The Drummer's March
by srusse87
Summary: Sequel to "For the Love of a Child". High school is turning into a big hassle for fifteen year old Goten. Another look at Gohan and Goten and how they've lived their life since the death of Chichi and Goku.
1. Chapter 1

"The Drummer's March"

This is a sequel to For the Love of a Child, I suppose if you haven't read that, this is probably going to be a bit confusing at first.

Disclaimer: I don't own DragonBall Z. Cause if I did it certainly wouldn't have ended on such a dorky note and Gohan would never have been turned into such a geek it was embarrassing to watch.ahem So. I don't own DBZ, I'm just borrowing it. (Not to be given back.)

Chapter 1

I can't stand stupid people. It's probably something I picked up from dad, who I know got it from Piccolo. And right now I'm completely surrounded by incredibly stupid people.

Dad would have come to register me, but had to stay home in order to convince his editor that he still refuses to do book signing tours. To the rest of the world, he really is a cranky old curmudgeon. I can't help but grin a little at the thought. The rest of the world maybe, but never to me. Besides, how can you be a curmudgeon when you're only twenty-seven? He doesn't even look that old. Bulma says he doesn't look a day older than twenty-three and Piccolo still calls him 'kid' when he can get away with it. Dad just growls and Uncle Vegeta says it's the Saiyan bloodline. At least I look my age of fifteen, though Dad says so did he.

Today I'm suppose to start at a new high school. Actually we're suppose to start at a new high school, we meaning me and Trunks. Both of us could have gone somewhere closer to our homes, Satan City has a large high school that Trunks could have attended if he wanted. But Trunks flat out refused to stay at that school. Something about him wanting to go somewhere the name Briefs wasn't automatically associated with Capsule Corp, his genius mother, or being a multimillionaire. I can understand that, it would suck having people make judgements about me only based on stuff they knew about my family. As for me, well Dad's pretty famous as a writer, but he doesn't write under his own name. I don't really have a reason for going to this particular school. Dad asked where I wanted to go, I said I didn't really care, and then Trunks asked me to go to whatever school he did so that he could actually talk to somebody.

Bulma says we're arrogant. But I don't think it's arrogance to want to have somebody around you can actually level with. We have history. We're like blood brothers I suppose. We've certainly bloodied each other enough times. We're tight in a way most people don't understand. We can fight each other and not hold back, we challenge each other physically and mentally. Mostly though, we just know who we are and where we come from. I mean, I can't just casually explain to some guy in my health class that I fly to and from school, can I? Or try to convince the girl who sits three rows back, that my blonde highlights don't come from a bottle of Clariol.

So Trunks and I decided to go to Fukuoka High School, which was about half way between his place and mine. Half being relative since his place is a good five hour plane ride from the school and mine is half way around the world. Of course when you're a Saiyan, time and distance have a slightly different meaning than that of a normal human.

I hadn't been waiting that long when I felt his energy signature approaching. Unfortunately I'd been waiting long enough to already be set upon by a group of students wanting me to join various different clubs. I was forming some choice swear words under my breath when Trunks walked around the corner.

"Yo." He held out a fist and we tapped knuckles before he looked around and sighed. "So this is it?"

I grimaced and nodded, ignoring the flyers that were being shoved in my direction. Pointing toward the table marked 'registration' and nudging him with my shoulder we headed over to sign away the next four years of our lives.

"So how're the rents?" He looked over the course listing he was scanning and rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh you know, the usual. Dad spent the morning ranting about how I don't train enough, Mom spent the morning moaning over why I couldn't go to school somewhere closer, and then Bra came downstairs wearing makeup and her skirt rolled up above her knees and Dad blew a gasket. So now he's in the dog house for breaking what is the third table this month."

I couldn't help but grin a little.

"So that'll be a reservation for three at Casa de Son, tonight?" I asked, though we both knew it was more of an open agreement.

"Reservation confirmed, amigo." He tapped the list in his hand. "What do you think about Trig, too boring?"

I looked over his shoulder at the schedule and shrugged. "It's right after lunch, I suppose we could use the period as nap time."

He laughed and circled the subject. "Trig it is. So how's the professor?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes and I chuckled a little at the memory of Dad earlier that morning. He'd been standing barefoot in the middle of the kitchen wearing only his pajama bottoms. Hair messier than usual, he'd had a wild look on his face as he waved his coffee cup around while yelling into the phone.

"Irate. His editor is trying to force a book tour on him, even offered to come out to the house and pick him up herself. I think the only thing that saved her from instant death was that he got to drink at least half a cup of coffee before she called."

I looked up from my own course listing. "We have a choice, P.E. or Calligraphy. What do you think?"

Trunks glanced around the large gymnasium we were standing in and studied the other students around us. He looked back at me and raised an eyebrow.

I grimaced. "Right. Calligraphy."

We'd had the problem of P.E. classes every year we'd been in school. I can still remember dad cautioning me to 'play with the children like a wild creature, gently'. It was hard always having to hold back, even gently kicking a soccer ball could send it straight through the net leaving nothing but a ball sized hole. The week my junior high school gym class studied marital arts, dad let me go visit the Briefs.

We were silent as we finished picking out our schedules and then handed them to a girl sitting behind the desk. She glanced over them before looking up at Trunks and smiling. "I just love your hair, did your parents freak when you did it?"

We looked at each other in surprise and Trunks shook his head. "It's not dyed." To me he muttered, "Though maybe I should. Give myself blue stripes or something."

I snorted, "Not unless you want to look like a walking bruise."

I turned and studied Trunk's hair. It was cut short in the back and fell longer over his eyes. I guess the color would be considered lavender by most. I'd never actually thought about it, his hair was just...his hair. Though when I considered it, I suppose lavender made sense; Bulma had blue hair. And Vegeta's hair was black, though it was also yellow, and blue and yellow...wait that would make green. So did that make black and blue turn violet? I shook my head and chalked it up to the mysteries of genetics.

The girl stared at Trunks for a moment, obviously not believing him, but then just handed him another piece of paper and smiled.

"I'm Clarissa by the way. We have Trigonometry together. Mr. Draper is the teacher, I hope you're good at math because his class is tough. I'm terrible at math, I'm always having to go to the study sessions just to pass the tests."

She glanced at my schedule and then handed it to me as well. "You signed up for all the same classes, are you guys friends?"

I nodded and took the paper from her, shoving it into my pocket. "Yeah." I grinned at Trunks. "You could say we're practically related."

"Right." Trunks gave the girl a slight wave before turning away. "You say that just because you know it pisses my dad off."

I laughed and shrugged. "Yes but it's so much fun. He gets all red and starts growling about low class Sayains and upstart half breed brats. Then your mom swats him with whatever is handy. Good times, man."

Trunks scowled a little and propped himself against the wall by the door before sliding down to the floor. We still had ten minutes before the bell rang for our first class. "You only say that because you don't have to live with him. You get to go home to the professor."

He scowled even harder and I felt a little guilty about my teasing. Sliding down alongside, I nudged him with my shoulder and sighed. "Hey, it's not all blue skies and apple pie. My dad isn't exactly Mr. Rogers either you know."

Trunks sighed and thunked his head gently against the wall before turning it slightly to look at me out the corner of his eye. "No, but he doesn't constantly hassle you about the need to be a proper Saiyan warrior, the need to train more, the lack of respect you show your elders..."

"Ah!" I interrupted with a raised finger. "I get that one all the time from Piccolo."

He scowled at me and I grinned. "Ok, you win. You have the shittiest deal. But at least that means you have a good place to come to, ne?" I gave him the patented Son smile and tossed in a wink for good measure. He scowled a moment longer before sighing and then chuckling.

"I hate it when you do that."

I grinned. "Yes, but it works." He just shook his head and we sat silently watching the other students register for their classes.

* * *

Maggie Ford had never actually met Sam Maxwell. In fact, she didn't even know his real name. As his book editor, this was a great source of irritation for her. She knew the basic facts; he was male and wrote very popular detective novels under a pseudonym. She knew his return address, email address, telephone and fax number.

She didn't know what he looked like, how old he was, his marital status, or any other personal bits of information. He was a mystery.

And he was driving her absolutely crazy.

"Look, I understand you don't want to do a large book signing tour but would you at least consider coming in as a guest speaker for the writers conference? They would dearly love to have you give a brief speech, it doesn't have to be..."

A curt, "No" cut her off before she could finish, which was better than the first time she had called to ask about the book signing. The man had actually _growled_ at her!

Sighing she decided to change tactics. "Well if that's what you want, I'll let them know." Taking a breath, she plunged on. "About your contract, we have some new paperwork we need signed and I'm afraid it has to be done in person."

She winced, glad he couldn't see her over the telephone. "I know you don't like to come in so I can drop by with the documents for you."

The other end was silent and she began to worry. Finally there was another one of those growls, though quieter this time. "Fine."

She let out a sigh of relief and relaxed. "Good. I'll be there Friday afternoon around 4 pm if that's ok? It'll be a pleasure to finally meet..." She trailed off and stared at the phone in her hand before looking up to where her assistant was watching with sympathy from the doorway.

"He hung up on me. Again!" Letting out a wail she buried her head in her arms. It would most certainly not be a pleasure to meet the person the entire publishing world had dubbed, "The Dragon".

* * *

"And to make matters worse, he won't call back and ask so we don't know when she's showing up!" I waved my carrot stick around to emphasize my point and Trunks ducked before snagging it out of my hand and eating it.

"Hey!"

"It was mine to begin with. This one however..." And he grabbed another one off the tray in front of me. Popping it in his mouth and grinning. "So what's the plan for this weekend?"

I scowled at where the carrot stick use to lay on my tray. Trunks chuckled before looking around quickly then snapping his apple in two, handing half to me. I took it with a nod of thanks and shrugged. "Don't know, probably just bum around."

"Bumming is good."

I nodded and slouched down in my seat, idly watching the other students eat around us. Our first week of high school had been rather boring, as we predicted. The classes weren't anything special and even the Trigonometry class that girl had warned us about wasn't a big deal. Bulma wasn't a genius for nothing, and Trunks had been educated accordingly. Against his protest usually, but nevertheless, he knew his stuff.

Dad had been educated along the lines of Trunks, but even more to the extreme. To hear Piccolo tell it, if Dad wasn't studying he was fighting and if he wasn't fighting, he was eating. I'm not sure Dad is a genius the same way Bulma is, though I've heard them argue for hours over the construction of some new machine or technology she was working on. And I know she's called him to bounce ideas more than a few times. Piccolo says Dad is incredibly smart, but his real genius lies in fighting. A prodigy since birth, he's a master at tactics and can adapt to any situation.

As for me. Somehow Dad always made learning seem really interesting. I don't remember learning how to read or calculate advanced formulas, I just did. He had this way of calling me into his study, sitting me down and working over puzzles and games with me. When I got older it was books he thought I'd find interesting and then we'd discuss them.

I glanced down at the paperback sitting next to my tray and grinned. _The Three Kingdoms_, written by Luo Guanzhong in the fourteenth century. The cover didn't promise much but it was full of blood, betrayal, magic, huge battles and long forgotten warriors.

Following my eyes, Trunk reached over and grabbed the book. "What's the professor got you reading this time?"

Before I could answer a figure walked up to our table and smirked down at us. "Hey pretty boys. Hear the news? Your dear old calligraphy teacher had a stroke."

One of the jocks, Brad something or other, leered down at us from where he stood holding his tray. "Poor boys. They can't find a substitute so guess who's being moved to P.E.?"

Trunks sighed and leaned back in his chair, "How troublesome."

"You're going to be crying for your mommies after the first day, isn't that right guys?" He called to a group of friends who were clustered around a table across from ours.

I studied the guy, never having really paid all that much attention to him before. Broad shoulders and big hands, his head with its brown hair cut close seemed too small, perched up at the top.

"Hey, Brad was it?" He squinted over at me and his leer widened. "Yeah, that's right."

"You ever go crying to your momma?"

His smirk faded a little and a puzzled frown spread across his face. "No."

I pushed away from the table and stood up, Trunks following silently beside. "Nor have I."

(So ends chapter one. I jumped into this as a sort of, let's look at Gohan and Goten a few years after "For the Love of a Child". Unlike my first story, I'm taking a stab at writing Goten in the first person. I'm not sure how it will work out though. I guess I just figured Gohan had his story told the first time around and now Goten wants a chance to shine. Anyway, I hope you all like it and sorry I've kept you waiting so long for a sequel. Thanks for reading!)


	2. Chapter 2

"The Drummer's March"

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of DragonBall Z. Though we do own DragonBall Z Budakai 1, 2 and 3

Chapter 2

She wasn't surprised to find that Sam Maxwell's house sat all by itself on a cliff over looking the ocean. While it wasn't really desolate, it was certainly isolated. It had taken her hours to drive here from the nearest town.

Climbing the broad steps to the front door, she marveled at the many plants and flowers that grew around the house. Tulips and Irises of every color had lined the pathway to the porch while vines trailed up the pillars themselves.

There wasn't a bell, instead a giant knocker rested in the middle of the large wooden door. Taking a deep breath she lifted the handle and rapped twice, stepping back nervously at its surprisingly loud echo.

"Yeah yeah!" Running feet followed by a thud and the door opened upon a young teenage boy with striking purple hair.

"Yes?" He looked at her expectantly.

Clearing her throat nervously she offered a smile, "I'm Maggie Ford. I'm here to see Sam Maxwell."

He looked puzzled for a moment and then his expression cleared, "Oh you mean the professor. Sure thing, come in."

She shut the door slowly behind her and followed the boy down the hall until they reached a kitchen. It was quite large and brightly lit from the sun, which shown through the windows that made up the far wall.

"Hey Goten, the editors here. Where's your dad?" The purple haired boy seemed to be addressing an empty room until she noticed the open refrigerator. A head poked around the side of the door and studied her for a moment before disappearing again.

"Out fishing."

The voice was slightly muffled but she could still make out the words. "He doesn't know you're here though, so he probably won't be gone much longer."

The purple haired boy threw himself into a chair next to a large table and grinned. "Yeah, if he knew you were here he'd stay out as long as he thought he could get away with."

The fridge door closed and she got her first good look at the other boy. _The son_? So Mr. Maxwell was married. And judging from the kids' age, he was probably in his early to late forties. The boy at the door had called him a professor though. He could be even older. That would certainly explain his surliness.

The son was quite cute though. Short black hair spiking all over in that style teenage boys seemed to love, though looking closer, she couldn't detect any hair gel. Actually they were both rather cute, as far as teenagers went. About fourteen or fifteen, they had an air of poised energy, without the awkwardness you'd expect from kids that age.

The black-haired boy had dumped what looked like half the fridge onto the table and was handing items to the other boy who was constructing the biggest sandwich she had ever seen in her life.

"So you don't think he'll be gone long?" She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Who knew how long it would take to drive back to town.

A head was shook, before quickly looking up at her. "Nah, he's usually home when I get back from school and if not he'll be here shortly." Pausing he seemed to remember something, and suddenly grinned.

"Sorry. Here sit down." He nudged a chair in her direction. "Can I get you something to drink? There's some ice tea."

She nodded and smiled a little, sitting down and smoothing her skirt. "That would be lovely, thank you."

But the boy was already across the kitchen and back into the fridge, which she now realized was much larger than the average refrigerator. _Abruptness must run in the family_ she mused.

A moment later and a glass was set down on the table next to her and operation on the sandwich resumed.

"That's going to be quite a meal when you're finished."

The boys looked up in surprise and then back down at the sandwich which took up the length of the table. Throwing what appeared to be guilty looks at each other they just ducked their heads and mumbled, "Yeah."

The next few minutes were silent as the sandwich was completed and the two boys sat in their chairs throwing looks at each other and then back at her. Suddenly they looked up, relief on their faces and she turned to see through the kitchen window, a man coming up a path toward the kitchen.

He was quite young, possibly in his early twenties, and obviously related to the black-haired boy in the kitchen. He had the same hair, though it was cut longer in the front. _So Mr. Maxwell has two sons. I wonder where the wife is, maybe he's only grouchy on the telephone._ Her thoughts were cut short however by the arrival of the young man as he stood in the doorway looking at her in surprise.

His feet were bare and he wore tan cargo pants, slightly loose and riding low on his hips. Sleeves rolled up, his white shirt wasn't buttoned, exposing a nicely built and quite tanned chest.

He stared at her a moment longer before running a hand over his face and slumping. "Damn."

She heard snickers from the two teenagers sitting down and finally gathered her wits enough to stand and offer her hand.

"Hello. I'm Maggie Ford. I'm here to see Mr. Maxwell about some paperwork. You must also be his son; it's very nice to meet you."

The snickers had evolved to chuckles and the young man glared at the two boys before muttering another, "Damn." And walked past her.

She turned, confused and rather put off by the young man's rudeness. "I'm sorry, are you not his son? You look so much like this other boy I just assumed . . . "

The young man grabbed a glass from a cabinet while the two boys at the table roared with laughter. Turning he pointed a finger at them and scowled. "Oh I know you think this is absolutely hysterical. Keep it up though and I'll tell Piccolo you both volunteered to spend your next vacation repainting the lookout."

The two boys calmed down and the black-haired one took on an injured expression. "Oh come on, that's not fair."

She coughed and held up a hand cautiously, afraid to jump in but not really wanting the two other boys to get into trouble. "Um, I'm sorry. So you're not Mr. Maxwell's son?"

The young man threw an irritated glance her way and then walked over to the fridge where he poured himself a glass of tea.

"No, I am not Mr. Maxwell's son." Slamming the door he turned to her and scowled. "I am Sam Maxwell."

* * *

Dad isn't necessarily a violent guy. Vegeta definitely takes all the credit for being the Saiyan with the hottest temper this side of the other world. But dad can do this thing with his eyes that makes the weak run screaming and the strong check their pants to make sure they didn't accidently shit themselves.

He can actually be a lot more scary than Vegeta. I mean, Vegeta shouts and bellows and stomps around breaking things but I think a lot of it's just noise. Dad on the other hand . . . he gets really still and quiet and his eyes go hard and cold. It's as if something switches off inside him.

It doesn't happen very often. He doesn't like me to know, but sometimes he has nightmares. He'll wake up in a sweat, a silent scream jerking him out of bed. His eyes always have that cold frightening look for a while afterward. Somehow Piccolo seems to know when it happens and usually shows up the next day. He'll stick around for a couple weeks and they spend a lot of time sitting on the balcony drinking tea.

They never spar during that time though. And when he doesn't think I'm looking, a dark shadow seems to fill his eyes.

He comes to my room on those nights and sits next to me, occasionally running a hand through my hair softly, watching as if he expects me to disappear any moment.

Sometimes he talks to Goku. Dad'll sit outside in the garden, Piccolo close by and they'll chat mind to mind about this and that: the weather, dad's latest book, me, the state of the world in general . . .

And after a few days he seems lighter, as if the weight of the nightmare has finally lifted. The shadows are gone and he'll spar again with Piccolo.

I thought of all this while I watched as the editor's eyes fought with her mouth as to which should open wider.

For a moment dad's eyes had flashed, not the dead look that made your skin crawl, but a look of irritation and impatience. It was gone quickly though, replaced with a sort of resigned disgust, and he came to sit down next to me lightly ruffling my hair as he went past.

Nevertheless, I had a feeling we'd be getting a visit from Piccolo soon.

TBC . . .

(And so ends chapter two. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. It was great to see some returning readers from my first story. I hope this chapter is acceptable . . . I'm having difficulty finding the right tone for Goten, it was easier when he was just a little kid. Ah well. More next week.)


	3. Chapter 3

"The Drummer's March"

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of DragonBall Z. Unless owning all the episodes counts.

Chapter 3

Maggie Ford had worked in the publishing industry since she graduated from college. After ten years in the business she prided herself on her ability to spot a good author. She had not been around when Sam Maxwell first started writing. Her predecessor had signed the contract and the contract had then been passed down to Maggie when he retired four years ago. But she knew of Mr. Maxwell and she knew that this young man sitting in front of her could not possibly be _the _Sam Maxwell. He just wasn't old enough.

"That's not possible."

The young man in question looked at her with a raised eyebrow and smirked. "Oh?"

"Yes. You can't be Sam Maxwell. You're not old enough."

"I see. And how old would you be?"

Maggie was startled by the question, "How is that any of your business?"

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine."

She had always thought that the idea of an evil grin was something only coined by authors for their novels. She was discovering that this young man had obviously read those stories and mastered the look.

"That's so . . . " She fumbled for an appropriate response and finally settled with, "Childish."

He snorted. "Well you did accuse me of being all but a child."

"I did not!" She realized she was close to shrieking and sighed. "Fine. I'm thirty-three."

He looked at her appreciatively and nodded. "Ah, and here I would have pegged you for being at least forty. Appearances can be deceiving."

There was a choking sound and the boy Goten reached over and smacked the purple-haired boy on the back. Coughing and spluttering he looked up in shock. "Gohan! That's terrible!"

Goten looked as if he wanted to laugh but didn't dare.

The young man closed his eyes and sighed, running a hand threw his hair. "Look. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm twenty-seven by the way. And my real name, not the name I write under, is Gohan Son."

He held up a hand to still any further arguments on her part. "I'll go get the paperwork." He stood up and started to head out of the room when Goten, snickered.

"Better get your ID too, Dad."

That earned him a glare but he just waggled his fingers and grinned.

She stared at the retreating back for a moment and then turned to stare at Goten. _Dad_? She sank back down into her chair and rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on. _Dad? Oh Maggie, I think you missed the rabbit hole when you fell down it._

The boy with the purple hair watched her with sympathy and then spoke up. "Don't worry. He's not really that bad once you get to know him."

She grimaced and didn't look up. "I've been his editor for six years."

"Yeah but you didn't really know him. You just knew his work. And I'll admit you didn't exactly get off to a great start. He's a bit touchy about his age."

Goten appeared to be making another sandwich. She glanced around suddenly in surprise, trying to figure out where the first one had disappeared to.

The purple haired boy smirked, "Touchy? I've seen bears with nicer personalities."

"I heard that Trunks."

The boy grinned, apparently not feeling the least bit guilty and shrugged. "But there are worse people out there."

The young man, _Gohan_, tossed some paperwork onto the table in front of her and then scowling for a moment at the two other boys, he dug a wallet out of his back pocket and threw a drivers license down as well.

She picked up the license first and examined it. It showed a picture of Gohan, not smiling but not scowling either. In fact, without the grouchy aura he seemed to project, he was actually very attractive. The licensed declared him to be one Gohan Son, residing at the current address which matched the one she had on file. He was apparently who he said to be. Looking at the paperwork in front of her she realized it was the original contract her predecessor signed, yet with some extra papers as well. The extra documents basically stated that Gohan Son was in fact the author using the pseudonym, Sam Maxwell.

"But if this is true then you would have had to start writing when you were . . . "

"Thirteen." She looked up at him and then back down at the license in front of her.

"Right." She repeated rather weakly. "Thirteen."

"I was a precocious thirteen year old." He glanced over at the boy Goten, and for the first time _smiled_. "Very precocious."

She gaped at the man in shock, forgetting to breathe for a moment. _Oh my_. She swallowed. When he stopped scowling and actually smiled he was absolutely gorgeous. She watched the younger boy grin back and shook her head.

Why did she suddenly feel happier?

"It's heady stuff isn't it?" She looked over to where Trunks was watching her. "A fearsome thing, the Son smile. It's impossible to stay angry in the face of it."

Gohan put the ID back in his wallet and gave the boy a strange look. "You make it sound as if it's a lethal weapon."

Trunks threw a pickle slice at Goten, who just smirked and caught it in his open mouth. "Ah, but it is. You have no idea how many arguments I've lost due to that smile."

Gohan seemed to ponder this for a moment and then grinned. "I see. Sticks and stones may break your bones but a smile will melt your heart? I'll have to try that on Vegeta the next time I see him."

Trunks and Goten burst out laughing. "It would probably freak my dad out if you just walked up to him and grinned." Trunks shook his head. "I gotta be there to see that."

"Speaking of which, you staying for the weekend?" Gohan asked the younger boy.

Trunks nodded and Goten threw an arm around his shoulder before grinning. "Yep. It'll just be us three hombres bumming around."

Gohan chuckled. "Right. Well you can start your weekend bumming after you clear the table. Then I'll make dinner." He gathered up the paperwork and then beckoned to Maggie to come with him. "We can go to the study to sign whatever papers you needed."

He headed out of the kitchen and Maggie stood up to follow.

Goten and Trunks each popped a pickle slice in their mouths before waving to her with matching smiles of innocence.

She blinked and glanced at the table. _Hadn't there been another sandwich? Where'd they go?_

Confused she shook her head and followed Gohan through the door.

* * *

"Did you see her expression?" Trunks was laughing so hard he was bent over clutching his side. "That's going to bother her for ages. You could practically see her trying to figure out what we did with the sandwiches."

I smirked and grabbed some stuff off the table to put back in the fridge. "Yeah I was worried we were going to have to split that first one. Good thing dad got her going so bad she never even noticed you eat it."

While I suppose I could have shared the sandwich with Trunks it wouldn't have been nearly enough to qualify as an after school snack. And trying to blend in at school meant we had to eat the normal high school lunch. Normal meaning small. By the time we got home we were always starving.

"I wonder what we're having for dinner?"

"Fish don't you think?" Trunks passed me the mustard and I put it away before closing and leaning against the fridge door.

"Not necessarily, he doesn't always go out fishing to catch anything. Usually it means he's thinking about something."

"Thinking? As in good thinking or bad thinking?"

I shrugged. "Not sure. But possibly the Piccolo kind of thinking."

"Ah." We both looked outside toward the sky, as if expecting him to suddenly show up at the mere mention of his name.

Trunks squirmed a little, "The Professor was joking about painting the lookout right?"

I laughed. "No, but I think we're good. Come on, I'll go a round with you in the gravity room. You need to release your pent up energy and anger."

Trunks blinked and stared at me as if I'd gone mad. "And what pent up energy and anger would that be?"

"The ones you're gonna be feeling come Monday after P.E." I smacked him slightly behind the head. "Tag. You're it."

The gravity room isn't obvious to those who don't know where to look for it. Actually, it really just looks like another closet in the hall off dad's study. That is if closets normally have a security box requiring you to tap in a code to open the door.

The security box is there to prevent people from just randomly opening the door and screwing with the gravity levels inside, not to mention hurting themselves. I nearly gave dad a heart attack the first time I ran in unannounced. The gravity knocked me flat on my ass and for a second I couldn't breathe until I powered up. Even then it was all I could do to keep myself from asphyxiating to death before dad lowered the gravity and came rushing over.

Man was he pissed off. Mostly though because I'd scared him. Next day, the security lock appeared on the door.

Trunks stays over enough that he has half my closet and dresser for his own stuff. This probably doesn't indicate good things about his home life. I mean, it's not horrific or anything, he's not abused unless you count the times he spars with Vegeta and comes out worse for wear. It's just, stressful I guess. Vegeta is an arrogant bastard; there's no doubt about that and Bulma's a very strong minded woman. I suppose you'd have to be to take Vegeta on. Their relationship seems to work but it's based on a lot of arguing. Dad says he finds it all together too exhausting.

A lot of times it gets to be a bit much for Trunks I think. Sometimes he'd show up at my window in the middle of the night. I'd just toss him an extra pillow and go back to sleep. Dad never really said anything either. When the second bed appeared in my room, Trunks tried to thank him. Explain maybe. But dad just ruffled his hair and told him not to worry about it.

Trunks and I didn't spar every day. If he was home, his dad always made him train. And Vegeta isn't a lot of fun to spar with. He takes it too seriously. I spar with dad and sometimes Piccolo. Though Piccolo fights dirty. Just when you least expect it he'll attack with those eye lasers of his and scorch you in the ass. Dad's great to spar with. He always makes you think about what he's going to do next because you're never quite sure. The best thing though, is watching him fight Goku. Once a year, he'll come and visit and then they'll spar hand to hand without energy blasts or powering up. Sometimes they go out over the ocean to do it and it's like a dance across the waves.

We passed the editor as she was leaving, some paper work in her hand. She eyed our clothes and smiled. "Teenage boys. Don't tell me you two are lifting weights to impress the girls. My brother was always out in the garage, pumping iron, he called it."

Giving us a final smile she walked past and we heard the door shut as she left. Trunks stared at the spot she'd been standing, a pole-axed expression on his face. "Pumping iron?"

I shrugged and grabbed his arm, dragging him down the hall with me toward the gravity room. "Who knows man, women are weird."

* * *

"So what's he like? The Dragon?" It was Monday and Maggie's secretary was standing over her desk, obviously desperate to get the latest scoop on their most notorious author.

Maggie leaned back and thought about her visit to meet the elusive Sam Maxwell. "Well, he's a lot younger then I was expecting."

She smiled slightly. "And very rude."

"So is he as mysterious as everyone thinks?"

Maggie tapped her pencil against the desk and thought about what she'd seen. A writer since he was thirteen. A father. She shook her head. She still couldn't get over that one._ Wish I'd had the courage to ask him about that_. Finally she nodded. "Yes, he's definitely as mysterious as everyone thinks."

TBC . . .

(And that completes chapter three. Sorry the previous one was so short, hopefully this one is a bit longer. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and offered encouragement. Generally I email back if I can find an email address, so in case you're wondering where my list of replies is-that's where. See you all next week.)


	4. Chapter 4

"**The Drummer's March"**

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

_Chapter 4_

"This sucks."

Monday morning found me and Trunks standing in the boy's locker room staring down at the P.E. uniform the teacher had tossed to us on the way in.

"Cheer up old son; it could have been worse."

Trunks looked at me skeptically, "Tell me precisely how this could have been worse Goten."

I grinned and picked up the grey sweatpants. "It could have been polyester."

I knew Trunks wasn't really commenting on the gym clothes. They were pretty standard, grey sweats and a black tee-shirt. Actually what he was groaning about were the antics going on in the room around us. Brad was on the floor demonstrating to his friends how he could do fifty pushups in a row. A couple of quiet nerdy boys were in the corner playing some dueling card game. Another of Brad's cohorts had a kid cornered by the toilets and was threatening to give him a flushy.

Sighing Trunks striped down and put on the clothes, I did as well while keeping an eye on the boy by the stalls just in case. Nobody deserved to be given a flushy this early in the morning. Fortunately the teacher came in before things got out of hand and told us to all go outside. With another groan Trunks headed out and I followed.

As we crossed the grass to stand where the rest of the class was waiting, Brad jogged up beside me. "Well I see you didn't chicken out and pretend to stay home sick."

I didn't say anything and kept walking, though you could almost hear Trunks roll his eyes.

Despite Brad making gym class sound like it was a combination between boot camp and a POW facility we ended up not doing anything more strenuous then playing soccer. Trunks and I managed to get the position of defense on Brad's team which meant we had precious little to do and mostly stood around.

"Good thing it wasn't like I wanted to play or anything." Trunks drawled as another goal was scored down at the other end of the field.

"Think anyone has ever accused him of being a ball hog?" I glanced idly toward where the action was being played out, but it didn't appear the ball was actually going to head our way anytime soon. Throwing myself onto the grass I groaned, "Man this is so lame."

Trunks looked down at me for a moment and then back up the field. Finally he sat down next to me and tipped his head back to study the clouds. "You're the one who said it could be worse."

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" The goalie, a huge guy with curly hair was yelling at us from his position at the net. "You're not supposed to be lying around! Get off the ground!"

Trunks lazily lifted his arm and flipped the finger at him. "Come over and make me."

You could tell the guy was itching to come over and do just that but was torn between remaining in his position as goalie, and his desire to the beat the crap out of Trunks.

I smirked, "Chill. We see the ball headed our way and we'll throw ourselves all over it."

The goalie had his fists clenched and didn't seem impressed with my compromise. "You're supposed to be on separate sides of the goal, not gossiping together like a bunch of girls."

"Look, moron. There's no damn ball. This game is boring enough as it is without me having to stand over there stagnating in solitary confinement." Trunks closed his eyes and propped his arms behind his head.

"I am so going to kick your ass when we get back to the locker room."

Trunks smirked, "I'm shaking in my shoes."

I flicked him in the forehead with my finger ignoring the glare he directed at me. "You idiot, are you trying to pick a fight?"

"I'm bored Goten."

I rolled my eyes. "So you're going to amuse yourself by beating up a guy who doesn't stand a chance?"

"Well I'd pick a fight with you if you'd be so accommodating."

"Trunks this is ridiculous." I stood up and brushed the grass off my pants. "Come on, it looks like somebody finally got the ball away from Brad and is headed this way."

"Oh boy." Despite his lack of enthusiasm Trunks stood up anyway and wandered back over to his appointed spot on the left.

I yawned and waved a hand at the goalie behind me. "Happy now?"

The goalie never actually got to see anymore action then the rest of us. The ball was taken away by someone else on our team and found itself once again on the other side of the field. Trunks threw himself back onto the grass in disgust and refused to get up again despite all the yelling the goalie did.

Finally we were allowed to head back into the school. The goalie glared at us one last time before running over to Brad and his group.

I glanced over at Trunks. "Do you think he's going to make an issue of it when we get back?"

"Do we care?"

I shrugged. "Not really but you probably shouldn't hurt him." I sighed, "Looks like I'm going to have to let you pick that fight after all."

He smirked. "I knew you would."

I punched him hard in the arm. "Asshole."

The locker room was crowded with sweaty guys in various states of undress. Brad, with the goalie standing next to him, blocked our way before we got very far.

"Mike says he has a score to settle with you." The goalie was cracking his knuckles, a look of pleasure on his face.

"I believe your words were, make me?" The goalie stepped toward Trunks and Brad moved out of the way to give him more room.

I sighed. "Fraid I can't let you do that big guy." The goalie looked over at me in surprise and then smirked.

"Oh how sweet. You gonna try to protect your little friend?"

I snorted. "Not likely. But we sort of have this arrangement that when he pisses someone off he has to deal with me instead." I shook my head. "Not really sure how that worked out but there you go. So if you would be so kind…"

Stepping back a little I turned to Trunks and tapped the side of my face. "Here would be preferable if you don't mind."

He grinned and I sighed. Drawing his fist back he cold-cocked me right in the face. Despite him holding almost everything back, I still found myself knocked off my feet and slammed into the lockers. I stood up rubbing my chin and grimaced.

"Feel better?"

He smiled, "Quite."

The jocks were standing watching us in shock and fascination before the guy Mike finally shook his head and walked off. "Bunch of freaks."

I stuck out my tongue at his retreating back and pointed a thumb at Trunks. "He started it!"

Trunks just chuckled and stripped out of his tee-shirt.

* * *

Dad was sitting out on the balcony with Piccolo when I got home that afternoon. I tossed my bag on the kitchen table before going out to see them.

"Hey old man. Wondered when you'd be darkening our doorstep again."

Piccolo scowled at me, flicking several energy balls my way which I fielded and started to juggle.

"You should show…" He started.

"Your elders more respect, I know." I finished with a grin.

He shook his head, "And he use to be such a sweet little boy." But he was smiling when he said it.

Piccolo and I had a good relationship. He reminded me of a crotchety old wolf. All bark and no bite. And I so did love pulling his tail. He wasn't really that old though, he'd always seemed ageless and dad said that other than his personality, he hadn't changed much from when he was a kid.

He flicked another energy ball my way and laughed when I yelped, trying to catch it and not get burned by the others. "You know Gohan," He mused. "I feel like I've had this exact conversation before at some point."

Dad grinned and reached over to snag one of the balls I'd just missed a catch on. "You need work on that; you're still having trouble getting past three." He let the energy absorb into his hand and I tossed the balls up in the air, catching them one at a time and doing the same. Reabsorbing energy was always

a peculiar feeling and I shivered before sitting down next to dad.

"Yeah well Piccolo hasn't been around lately to offer me much practice."

Piccolo snorted. "What, do I look like a circus trainer?"

I opened my mouth to respond when he pointed a finger at me. "You won't answer that if you know what's good for you."

Dad shook his head and then reached over to gently touch my chin where Trunks had decked me earlier that day. I have no idea how he knew exactly where I'd been hit; must be a dad thing. You couldn't really see much; the punch hadn't been strong enough to leave a lasting mark, just a slightly tender spot.

"I got a phone call today from your school."

I groaned and leaned back in my chair, rocking it on its back legs. "Was it a phone call about screwing around during soccer or a phone call about Trunks being bored in the locker room?"

"Both."

I looked up at him trying to figure out if he was mad or not. He didn't seem to be, more amused then anything else, but it was hard to tell. "Well it was either I let Trunks hit me or I let him hit the dumb goalie and I figured he didn't really need that kind of grief after just one week at a new school."

"A chip off the old block."

I looked over at Piccolo in surprise. "He's not really, he was just…"

"Bored?" Dad's drawl of amusement had a hint of an edge to it and I squirmed a little in my seat.

"You know how rough P.E. can be on a guy who's not suppose to do much. And we were stuck in the middle of this soccer field just hanging around for an hour." I stopped realizing how lame, not to mention contradictory that sounded.

"Ok so maybe he does take a bit after Vegeta, but what else was I supposed to do?"

"Duck?" Piccolo had his arms folded and was glaring at me.

"That would totally defeat the purpose in the first place." I muttered.

"What purpose? You serving as a punching bag?"

I scowled and slouched down in my chair not sure if I was being interrogated or chastised. I glanced over at dad but still couldn't tell from his expression.

"Am I in trouble?"

He looked startled for a moment and then laughed, jerking my chair sideways and pulling me into a hug. "No, you little punk, you're not in trouble."

I tried to keep up my glare but then settled down in his arms. I may be fifteen, but a guy can still enjoy a hug. "Then what's with the third degree?"

He chuckled again and I could feel it reverberating in his chest. "Your school is concerned that you two don't seem to be making any friends or forming any social groups outside of each other. Your little display of anger management was of some concern to the teacher."

Piccolo snorted, "Anger management. Of all the…Im getting a drink." And then he stalked back into the house.

Dad's quiet laughter seemed to chase after Piccolo as he ruffled my hair. "The school wanted to know what was going on. They think you're unhappy there."

I looked up surprised, "Unhappy?"

He sighed and nodded. "I'm sure Trunks is probably hearing about it by now as well." We both winced a little at the thought of the tongue lashing he was probably getting from Bulma.

"They want you to talk to someone at school, a counselor."

I sat up fast, the chair thumping on the deck. "What?"

Dad held his hands out and sighed. "I know, I know. Cool your jets. I tried to explain none of this was necessary but they insisted."

I shook my head and stared at dad. "Just because Trunks and I got into it? Guys our age fight all the time; hell that stupid goalie was picking a fight. That's normal!"

"Yes Goten, but apparently it's not normal for a guy to passively let his supposed best friend punch him so hard he goes flying into the wall."

"A shrink. They want me to see a shrink." I was still shaking my head.

"Both of you actually. Individually as well as together." Piccolo had come back out carrying a cup of tea and tossed a can of soda at me. "You look like you could use a drink."

I caught it and nodded distractedly at him in thanks; still trying to get my head around the fact that I was suppose to go see some shrink because they thought Trunks and I had issues. Like some kind of old couple seeking marriage counseling.

"Can't you get me out of it dad? Tell them it's against our religion or something." I looked pleadingly up at him but he just ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

"It's one of those things Goten, where the harder you dig your feet in, the more they feel it's all in your best interest. Sorry kiddo but you're going to have to do it. First meeting's tomorrow morning before class. They want you both to come in so you can have a chance to discuss your differences with someone there to mediate." I could tell he was repeating what they'd told him on the phone from the way his lips curled and eyes narrowed.

I stared at the can in my hands and then opened it, taking a long drink and feeling the burn as the carbonated soda slid down my throat. "Damn Trunks and his stupid boredom anyway. This is so all his fault."

TBC…

(I know, this is earlier then I promised but...I'm bored. So here you all go- another chapter. Though this didn't turn out quite the way I expected it to. Huh. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it and I'll see you all again with the next chapter. By the way, I wasn't sure if the language in this chapter was enough to bump the rating up to R…anyone know?)


	5. Chapter 5

"**The Drummer's March"**

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

_Chapter 5_

The name plaque on the desk read Mack Gibbons. The man behind the desk was slender, had messy brown hair and a matching mustache.

He stood up and smiled when we came in, gesturing towards the chairs in front of his desk. "Sit down gentlemen. You can call me Mack."

We looked at each other and shrugged before slouching into the chairs rather ungraciously.

When I'd met Trunks that morning, he had sheepishly apologized. I'd threatened to blow him up the next time we sparred and that had been that. I'd never been one to hold a grudge, haven't really got the personality for it. A bit of swearing and I was good. After all, despite the mess he'd got us into, he was my best friend.

This school counselor though was definitely _not _my best friend and I didn't owe him anything.

"You boys know why you're here?"

We shrugged and I spoke up. "You're a shrink, school thinks we have a problem and you're supposed to fix it."

He coughed, "Well I wouldn't exactly have phrased it quite like that but yes, I am the school counselor."

I rolled my eyes and the counselor eyed me speculatively.

"So. You want to tell me about what happened in the locker room?" He fixed his eyes on us and spoke in a cheerful voice that made me think of teachers talking to four year olds.

Trunks smiled his biggest smile, the one he always used on Bulma to get out of trouble. "It was no big deal; we're good. So that's it right? We can go now?"

The counselor guy smiled back and shook his head. "Not quite, Trunks was it?"

Trunks nodded and slouched deeper in his seat. "Told you it wouldn't work." He muttered to me and I shrugged. It'd been worth a try.

"And you must be Goten." It was my turn to nod.

"So you guys just transferred here, right? Did you go to the same school before this?"

I glared and waved a hand toward the files that sat on his desk. "You have all our information right there. Think you could just ask us what you really want to know so we can get out of here?"

The counselor stopped smiling and tipped his head toward me. "You seem a little angry Goten."

I refused to say anything and folded my arms. He sighed, "Ok then. You want to tell me why you just stood there and let Trunks punch you?"

"Because he's a dumbass?"

"Goten!" Trunks hissed at me, "Knock it off man or we're going to be here freaking forever."

"Fine. I let him punch me because that guy Mike was itching to pick a fight with him."

The counselor was watching us intently. "I'm not sure I follow you Goten."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, even though I knew it made it stick up even more. "Well if I'd let him get into with Mike, it would have been messy and the guy would have gotten hurt. And then we'd have got into trouble, maybe kicked out, blah blah blah. So I let Trunks deck me instead. Problem solved."

The counselor started tapping the desk again with his pencil and nodded slowly. "That seems very noble of you Goten but why didn't you just tell Trunks to walk away?"

I glared at Trunks and he winced a little. "Because," I griped. "He was bored."

"Bored?" It was Trunks' turn to get the steady inspection.

"Yeah, look I already apologized to Goten. I was bored and looking to pick a fight. I shouldn't have done it and I'm really sorry. It won't happen again."

"So Goten had you hit him instead."

We nodded.

"Does this happen often?" He seemed to be watching us even more closely and the pencil had stopped tapping.

We threw glances at each other and shook our heads. "No."

I wondered if he realized how obvious his fidgeting was. Whenever he asked a question he found particularly important, he stopped tapping his pencil. I bet he really sucked at poker.

He seemed to want to say something further on the matter but changed his mind. "Well it appears you two have worked it out between yourselves. The next time you get bored Trunks, run a lap around the track."

Trunks nodded in silent agreement and we jumped up, ready to take off out the door.

"Hold on a moment Goten, I want to talk to you a bit further. Trunks you can head to your first class."

"But . . . " I had hoped we could skip the little individual talk Piccolo had mentioned but apparently the counselor had other plans.

"I won't take much of your time Goten. Please sit down."

I threw myself back into the chair in irritation, listening to the door shutting behind Trunks. The counselor was watching me expectantly.

"Thank you for staying Goten."

"Not like I had much choice," I grumbled.

He shook his head and sat back. "That's not true; you always have a choice."

"My dad said you'd want to talk to me, so here I am." I stared at the wall behind him, taking note of the books he had on his shelf. A lot of titles about psychology.

"Do you always do what your dad says?" He was tapping his pencil again and I looked in his direction briefly before turning away again. "Of course."

He seemed to find that rather surprising. "You do? Most teenagers don't get along that well with their parents."

I shrugged, "Never had that problem."

"What about your mom, you get along well with her?"

I tipped my head back to study the ceiling, not particularly liking where this line of questioning was going. "No mom."

"Ah," His voice held sympathy, "Divorced?"

I dropped my head to look at him. "Dead."

He was silent and I took pity on him. "Look, don't sweat it. She died in child birth, so it's not like I lost anything really. You can't miss what you never had and all that."

He gave me a strange look. "I'm not sure that's the case Goten." He seemed to gather his thoughts before asking me another question.

"What's your dad do?"

I resumed my study of his ceiling. "He's a writer."

The counselor smiled, all interest. "Really? What does he write?"

I contemplating pointing out that several of the books on child psychology he had sitting on the shelf next to him had been written by dad but decided against it. Instead I settled for a general wave of my hand in the air and a vague, "novels."

The counselor guy acted as if we'd just shared a big joke and laughed. "What's your dad's name?"

"Gohan."

He closed his eyes and tapped his chin for a moment. "Hmmm, don't think I've read anything by a Gohan Son."

I shook my head, "You won't have. He writes under a different name."

"Ah. And I don't suppose you're going to tell me what it is, are you?"

I smirked, "Well that would completely defeat the purpose of a pseudonym now wouldn't it?"

He looked startled for a moment and then let out a sharp laugh. I was hoping this indicated we were done but apparently he had other ideas.

"Your dad never remarried? He must have loved your mother very much."

"Not quite." Back to the mom stuff. He was persistent; you had to give him that.

"What do you mean?" He had a concerned expression on his face that irritated me. Damn nosy bastard.

"I don't see how this has anything to do with the locker room."

"I'm just trying to get to know you Goten."

"Sounds like you're trying to get to know my dad."

He sighed and sat back, setting the pencil down on the desk. "Ok then. Do you have a girl friend?"

"No."

He smiled. "Any interest in acquiring one some time in the future?"

I looked at the guy trying to figure out if he was having me on but he appeared to be serious, despite the stupid ass smile.

"No."

He looked at me intently and I could easily predict what his next question would be.

"How long have you been friends with Trunks?"

Bingo.

"Since I was four."

"You guys get along well, for the most part?"

He was still watching me and I knew exactly what he was thinking. He wasn't the first. Sometimes it was easier to have people believe that Trunks and I had something going on rather then the simple truth that we preferred each others company to most anyone else. Though Vegeta would go ballistic if he knew what people mistakenly suspected. The thought made me smile.

"He's my best friend."

"Do you have many you consider friends?"

"I had a frog named Mr. Hoppers once," I answered acerbically.

He didn't seem to appreciate the sarcasm and his smile was gone. He jotted a couple notes down in the file on his desk and then looked back up at me. "What about at home, any friends in your neighborhood you hang out with?"

"No."

More notes. "What do you like to do in your free time Goten?"

Remembering Piccolo I smirked, "I'm learning to juggle."

He looked up and smiled happily. "That's a great hobby. Anything else?"

I thought about that. "Read; hang out, spar- sometimes we go fishing."

"Spar? Do you box?"

"Box?" I was surprised. "No, martial arts. It's a family thing."

"Oh! Does your family run a dojo?"

"I guess you could say that."

* * *

Mack waited for the door to shut behind Goten before he sat back with a sigh. Goten was an interesting kid. His file didn't actually reveal that much, the transcripts from his previous schools, which showed that the kid was an outstanding student. Mack had talked briefly with the boy's teachers yesterday afternoon and apparently they never seemed to pay much attention in class but always had the best marks. Having studied Trunks' file, Mack was quite aware of who his mother was and so his intelligence didn't surprise him. But Goten was a mystery.

From outer appearances he seemed pretty average. Even the attitude could be attributed to typical teenage angst. At first Mack had thought it was a simple case of Trunks being the lead man and Goten his weaker flunky. That would have explained why Goten had let Trunks hit him; it wasn't unusual for those sorts of relationships to form in high school social systems.

However, as soon as they'd sat down, it had been Goten who'd been the most outspoken. Mack hadn't been prepared for his logical if rather strange explanation behind the scene in the locker room. He'd had to reassess his opinion of the boy. Goten was highly intelligent, and once you got past the initial belligerence, he had a quick wit that cut sharply. He suspected there was a lot more Goten had wanted to say but kept to himself.

Mack wondered about the boy's home life. He had been quite protective of his father's privacy. It was also a little strange that he didn't have any other friends outside Trunks. Mack had thought about stopping by Goten's house to have a chat with his father, but the address on file had confused him. It had to be an error, since Goten had just recently transferred to this school, the address must be from his previous residence. He'd sent a note to the office requesting they contact the family for an updated address as soon as possible.

Shaking his head slightly Mack looked down at the few notes he had taken during his time with Goten. The meeting hadn't gone quite the way he had expected. Instead of a pep talk on sticking up for yourself and not letting your peers push you around, he'd found himself running up against the boys strong personality and obvious irritation at being detained. Goten had been even more displeased when he'd discovered that he had to come back next week. Yet Mack had found that he was left with more questions then answers.

Nodding to himself, he closed the folder. He'd call Mr. Son and schedule an appointment to meet him before the end of the week.

TBC . . .

(He really is a nice boy! I'm not sure what happened. Guess he wanted to be more like Gohan then I originally thought. But that's the way it goes. Thank you to everyone who reviewed- it means a lot to me to get your feedback. Good, bad, informative, I enjoy it all- thank you!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note**: Ok, I owe everyone a huge apology. I took another look at this chapter today. And now that I'm feeling slightly better I realized not only had I left things very unclear in the chapter itself, but that the format was screwed up from when I posted it online. So I'm redoing parts, adding stuff and clarifying others.

I also wanted to quickly address some questions that have been asked by people who I couldn't respond to in person because of not having an email address for them. I've been avoiding it as much as possible because frankly, I'm a chicken. grin

This could quite possibly kill my readership for some of you- I really hope that isn't the case, but I'm just going to say it. No, Videl is not going to make an appearance in this story. At all. I feel her little cameo in the prequel was enough. This story is technically supposed to be about Goten and Trunks. Though Gohan does play a large role in it. Gohan is going to stay single. I just feel the character, as I have portrayed him, is someone who wants to stay alone. He's happy that way. I'm very sorry if this ruins the story for some of you out there. However, I know for a fact that there are tons of Gohan/Videl stories out there so you don't have to worry too much about my little piece of fiction depriving you of your pairing fix.

Regarding Gohan not saying anything about being Goten's brother. That's a little harder to address. I strongly feel (and hopefully made clear in the first story) that they don't consider each other brothers. There relationship is very much one of father and son. Gohan doesn't tell people he's not Goten's biological father because he doesn't really feel it's any of their business and because he actually does consider himself to be Goten's dad.

Ummm, I think that's about it. If there are any other questions or if anyone would like to offer their own view of how I've arranged things, feel free to email me. I can be reached through the review section or my email address. I'm really sorry about the quality of this last chapter and hopefully this repost is a bit better. Thank you everyone for sticking with me.

srusse87

**The Drummer's March**

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

_Chapter 6_

Gohan was trying to figure out where to hide a dead body when the phone rang.

_The closet won't work and the garbage men would find it if it went in the dumpster..._

Distractedly he answered the phone, still dismissing ideas in his mind. B_ury it? No, not enough time. Damn, this was why murder was so messy. A good energy blast took care of all these problems. No body, no mess. Of course it did tend to leave a rather unexplainable blemish on the landscape..._

He shook his head with a slight snicker, realizing he was sounding more like Vegeta every day. Besides, he didn't think his editor would understand if he suddenly blew up the victims in his latest novel.

Then he had it.

"The old cement shoes trick! I'll dump it in the ocean."

"Excuse me?"

Suddenly Gohan realized he was holding the telephone and there was someone on the other end.

"Is this the Son residence?"

Scribbling the idea on a pad of paper next to him, Gohan nodded; absentmindedly adding, "Yes."

There was a pause and papers were shuffled. "Would it be possible for me to speak to Gohan Son?"

"Speaking." Spinning his chair around, Gohan grabbed a book on tide schedules and current patterns from the large bookcase that lined the wall behind his desk.

"Oh, good. This is Mack Gibbons from Fukuoka High School and I was hoping I could speak with you."

Gohan noted the tidal pattern for the Pacific Ocean and then flipped to the index to check the current pattern as well. "Ahh."

"I spoke with your son today, about the incident in the locker room..." The voice on the other end paused.

"I see," Gohan muttered while he turned pages and marked them with sticky notes, noting that the timing would have to be very precise to avoid the body washing back up on the same shore.

"Yes, so I was wondering if it would be possible for us to arrange a time when we could sit down and talk about Goten. You could stop by the school, or if that's inconvenient I could schedule a visit to see you at home."

"Perfect." Gohan slammed the book shut, tossing it on the desk to be re-shelved later. "It'll have to be late afternoon, just before dusk." He chuckled quietly, "They do say time and tide wait for no man."

"Ok then, I can schedule you for three. Is it convenient for you to come in to the school?"

Gohan was reaching for his pencil which had fallen on the floor when he finally became aware of the man on the telephone. "What?" Sitting up quickly he banged his head on the bottom of the desk, "Damn it!"

"Mr. Son?"

Grabbing his head, Gohan scowled. "What is it? Who is this anyway?"

The speaker on the phone was silent for a minute and then slowly, as if to a child said, "Mr. Son, this is Mack Gibbons. I'm the counselor at Fukuoka High School. I met with your son this morning and I wanted the chance to speak with you in person. You just agreed to an appointment for three tomorrow."

Gohan studied the phone in his hand for a moment, a grimace exchanged for a look of puzzlement. Seeing the book on his desk, his face cleared in comprehension. "Gotcha. Sorry. I wasn't actually listening to you; I was looking up tide schedules."

There was a long pause on the other end. "I'm sorry; did you say...tide schedules?"

Sitting back in his chair and ignoring the question, Gohan gingerly fingered the spot where he'd cracked his head. "Why do you need to speak with me Mr. Gibbons? I heard the story from Goten and I assure you there is no lingering animosity between him and Trunks."

"Yes, I gathered that as well, but after talking with your son there are some questions I'd like to ask you; in person if at all possible."

Gohan sighed, "Naturally."

"So if that's alright, is three tomorrow afternoon a good time for you to stop by my office?"

Gohan sighed again, tipping his head back to rest against his chair. "Fine."

With a final goodbye and promise to come in, Gohan hung up the phone grumbling to himself. "How troublesome."

* * *

Dad was working in his study when I got home that afternoon. It's my favorite room in the house. There's a large window with a built in seat where you can sit and look out at the ocean. On clear days it's almost as if you can see to the end of the world. The walls are lined with bookshelves that go all the way to the ceiling and a large carpet Bulma and Vegeta brought back from Turkey rests on the floor in front of his desk.

Dad spends a lot of time in his study. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting in his lap, falling asleep to the sound of him typing. Even now, as I stood in the doorway and watched, he sat behind his computer eyes narrowed in exasperation.

He must be stuck at a particularly difficult section in his latest book. You can always tell because his hair becomes even messier from him constantly running his hands through it.

"Hey."

Dad gave the computer one final scowl and then looked up to smile at me, "Hey yourself. Hungry?"

I grinned, "You're kidding right?"

"Right. Stupid question."

Despite the fact that Trunks calls dad Professor, there isn't really anything terribly academic looking about him. He looks more like the college students that occasionally intern at Bulma's lab. He reminded us of a professor though, he always seemed to know the answer to any question and if he didn't, he knew where to find it.

There was something else too; something that I could never quite pin down enough to describe. It was the way he refused to argue with Bulma, or how Vegeta never got a rise out of him. He wasn't always calm, sometimes it seemed as if a storm was brewing above him and you could almost smell the crackle of lightening in the air. But it was as if he was above petty insults and challenges, like he could see farther ahead than the rest of us.

I often suspected that dad could see life so far down the road, he'd met it back again at the beginning. Maybe that's why he got along so well with Piccolo. Speaking of which…

I walked over to dad, idly picking up books from where they were scattered around the room and putting them back on the shelves. "Where's Piccolo?"

Dad grabbed a book off his desk, pulled some sticky notes off the pages, and then tossed it to me, tipping his head to look at the ceiling before looking back at me. "Roof."

I nodded. The roof meant Piccolo was meditating, which meant he wouldn't want to be bothered, which meant it was of course, my duty to go pester the hell out of him. I smirked.

Dad rolled his eyes and brought his hand down to gently cuff me on the side of the head. "Don't even think about it."

I blinked my eyes innocently, "What?"

"I know what that look is. That's your 'I'm going to go see how crazy I can make Piccolo' look."

I pointed a finger toward my chest but couldn't help the grin that twitched at the corners of my mouth. "Who me?"

"Yes, you. Forget it. Besides, you can help me make dinner and while were doing that..."

I eyed him suspiciously, "Yeah?"

"You can tell me how your day went."

"Fine." I shelved the last book and then had a thought. "But I'm not peeling potatoes!" I yelled after his retreating back. He just laughed.

* * *

Mack was writing up his report on a couple students with learning disabilities when there was a knock on his door and a young man with black hair stuck his head in.

"Mr. Gibbons?"

Mack smiled and nodded, quickly looking at his clock. "That's right. But I'm afraid I have an appointment right now."

The young man nodded and stepped further into the room, firmly closing the door behind him. "I know. The appointment's with me. You wanted to talk about Goten."

Mack stared in shock. "Mr. Son?"

The young man casually pulling out a chair to sit across from him grimaced and shook his head a little. "Just Gohan will be fine." He looked at Mack and smiled a little as if remembering a joke. "Let me guess. You were expecting someone older?" Mack nodded silently, a little embarrassed to be caught so obviously staring.

Goten's dad wasn't at all what Mack had been expecting. Instead of the thirty-something hassled father, he was looking at a young guy probably in his twenties. There was no doubt he was related to Goten though. Black hair stuck out in spikes and coal black eyes watched him in amusement. He was dressed casually in grey cargo pants and a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There was an air about him that seemed to indicate he didn't really care about his appearance or impressing anyone. While most people struggled to capture that look of casual indifference, Mack could tell this young man pulled it off without even trying.

At the moment however, the young man was focused on Mack with an intensity he found a little daunting.

"Don't worry. I get that a lot. I'm twenty-seven since that's probably your next question." He waved a hand gently in the air and frowned a little as if scolding a misbehaving child. "I know, that would mean I was twelve when Goten was born. Very young. Indeed."

Mack was left rather speechless and could only gape at the confident man sitting in front of him. "So what's so important I had to come all the way to see you in person?"

Mack remembered that he was the one supposedly running this meeting and swallowed, "Yes, thank you very much for that. I gathered from Goten that you value your privacy very much."

A raised eyebrow met his comment. "Goten said that?"

Mack coughed, "Well it was what he didn't say actually."

To his surprise the other man threw back his head and laughed. For some reason Mack got the impression that it wasn't something this particular young man did very often. At least not around strangers. Mack decided to just go ahead and ask the questions that had plagued his mind since his session with the younger boy.

"Goten is a very bright boy." He looked to the young man to check his reaction but Gohan only seemed to be watching him in quiet amusement. Deciding tact wasn't working he switched to being more blunt.

"He had a rather cavalier attitude regarding the death of his mother." He watched the other man closely, hoping to gage his reaction yet was still surprised by the response he got.

"Goten's right. You would make a terrible poker player." Suddenly the smirk slid from Gohan's face as he leaned forward to study Mack closely.

"Do you consider yourself a good judge of character Mr. Gibbons?"

Mack was taken aback by the question and barely managed to keep from squirming under the penetrating look those dark eyes were giving him. No wonder Goten said he listened to his dad. He could only imagine what it would be like to be reprimanded under those burning eyes.

He stared at the other man for a moment before remembering the actual question and shrugged a little. "I think I'm a good judge of character, as best as one can be."

"Ah." Gohan sat back and Mack couldn't decide if he'd answered the question to the other man's satisfaction or not. There was something about this young man that was throwing Mack off balance. One factor was obviously his youth, which was rather startling, but it was also something about the way he carried himself. There was confidence but also an underlying sense that he was just humoring Mack.

Clearing his throat, Mack decided to try again. "Are you aware your son hasn't made any friends since starting here?"

Gohan nodded, "Yes."

"And this doesn't bother you?"

"I don't see why it should."

Mack was a little offended at the lack of concern in Gohan's answer and about to object when he caught the expression that flittered across the other man's face.

Again, it was the young man's eyes that gave Mack pause. His voice was mild and his tone friendly. He was obviously young in appearance. Yet his eyes...his eyes seem to hold a vast knowledge of life and pain in them. They spoke of time itself, of wisdom that could only be obtained through experience and age. Eyes that obviously didn't match the youth of the young man and that sent shivers down Mack's spine.

Mack had seen such eyes only once before. The way his grandfather had looked when he recounted tales of his youth. It was a look that seemed to acknowledge all the mistakes that you would ever make and held a measure of sorrow in them as well.

When his grandfather had looked at him like that, Mack had felt that his grandfather had seen everything before, all the joy and pain life had to offer, and was resigned to watching it all repeat.

Mack felt his indignation deflate and he sat back with a sigh. "Do you think your son is happy?"

For once the other man appeared surprised by the question. "Did ask him that yourself?"

Mack nodded and grimaced, "Yes. I believe he quoted D.H. Lawrence to me. 'The search for happiness always ends in the ghastly sense of the bottomless nothingness into which you will inevitably fall if you strain any further.' When I suggested that was a rather cynical outlook he shrugged and promised to find me something more upbeat the next time I saw him."

Gohan looked as if he wanted to laugh but refrained in view of Mack's obvious exasperation. "So you want to know if I think he's happy."

Mack just nodded.

"Well first I should probably mention that Goten enjoys driving those around him absolutely crazy." He smirked and Mack realized suddenly where Goten must get a large portion of his personality. "Really he was just yanking your chain."

Mack knew he was gaping like a fish but couldn't seem to help himself. "Yanking my chain?"

"Yes. As you said yourself, he's very bright. He rather enjoys stringing people along, you know? If you ask him how things are going, don't be surprised if he gives you a line about waking up hung over to find dead bodies in bathtubs."

Mack felt he had been following the conversation fairly well up until that point. "Dead bodies?" He could only ask weakly.

The other man laughed wryly. "You know, 'Life is like waking up hung over to find a corpse in your bathtub. You don't know how it happened but it can't be good.' Actually, I don't know who said that, but it's one of Goten's favorites."

Mack had no idea what to say and could only stare as the other man pondered his original question. "Is Goten happy? I think he's happy. He seems happy enough at home. We have a good relationship, I only have to beat him up and lock him in his room without dinner a couple times a month."

This time Mack knew he was being messed with. Gohan threw him a look and then burst out laughing. Standing up he offered a hand to Mack and then started to walk out of the office. "I wouldn't worry too much about Goten, Mr. Gibbons. I assure you that as far as teenagers go, he's quite well balanced. Even if he is a bit arrogant at times."

This last comment was said with another grin. And Mack couldn't help but match it a little.

"Thank you for coming in Gohan. It was certainly...interesting." His only response was quiet laughter as the door closed behind the younger man. Mack shook his head and slouched a little, tapping the desk gently with his pencil.

"How did they know I suck at poker?"

TBC...

(I don't suppose anyone out there actually knows who that quote is attributed to?)


	7. Chapter 7

"**The Drummers March"**

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

_Chapter 7_

"D. H. Lawrence, Goten?" Dad was trying to look exasperated but his mouth kept twitching into a smile. "Are you trying to score yourself more visits with Mr. Gibbons?"

School had just finished for the day and when I walked out the front doors, dad had been standing outside leaning against the gate waiting for me. I shrugged and grinned a little sheepishly. "What can I say, it was fun baiting him."

This earned me a cuff to the side of my head which I ducked. However I wasn't fast enough to dodge the tap to the back of my head that followed.

"Doesn't that count as child abuse or something?"

Trunks had followed me out and now jumped the last few steps to land next to us. I grinned when dad reached over and flicked Trunks in the forehead.

"Now you're even."

Trunks rubbed his forehead and scowled. "Hey! That's definitely child abuse. I'm not even your kid!"

"Now see, that's funny because you seemed perfectly happy with me in the past." Dad tapped his chin in thought and grinned at Trunks. "I seem to remember a certain little boy who was spending the night and got scared. I do believe that little boy crawled into bed with me. Something about monsters under the bed?"

Trunks backed away and stood behind me. "How do you live with this guy, Goten? He fights dirty." He looked at his watch and grimaced. "Crap, I'm gonna be late. I have to go to this dance recital thing of Bras. Catch you later."

With a wave he was off running down the street and shortly we felt him power all the way up the second level. I wondered if things were rougher at home than usual and made a mental note to find out the next time I saw him.

Shrugging, I turned to dad and smiled my biggest smile. The one with teeth and everything. "So pops...cause you love me so much and all, how about we get pizza for dinner tonight?"

* * *

Dad was in the kitchen reading the paper and drinking coffee when I got up that morning. Sitting there in just blue flannel pajama pants, hair messy from sleep, I had to admit that as far as girls were concerned, I suppose he was a good looking guy. Which reminded me of that question the shrink had asked me.

"Hey dad, why don't you get married?"

He looked up in surprise and eyed me over the rim of his cup. "Married?"

I nodded and walked over to collapse in the chair across from him, accepting the carton of orange juice he pushed my way. "Yeah. You're a young guy, attractive..." He gave me a strange look and I coughed. "Well theoretically speaking, of course." Crinkling his eyes in amusement, he nodded, "Naturally."

I poured some juice into my glass and then continued, ticking off reasons on my fingers. "You're young, attractive, have a nice house, steady income..." I thought about that one for a second and then held up another finger, "Large income. Oh, and you have a great kid."

He laughed, "Are you in a hurry to get rid of me or something?"

I shook my head and fiddled with the glass in my hand. "I was just thinking. That shrink asked if you were married and I realized that I've never seen you with anybody..." I set the glass aside and looked up, he was watching me closely. "I'm not trying to get rid of you, I think things are great this way, I just wondered."

It was true. When I thought about it, I really didn't want dad going off and hooking up with some girl. In my mind it was always just him and me. Eventually I would probably go off to college or something. I'd always pictured him wandering around the house, writing and swearing and arguing with Piccolo.

I liked things the way they were. Bulma sometimes made noises about hooking dad up with a nice girl but I never paid attention. Dad was just dad. He was intelligent and strong and...alone. Looking at him across from the table I saw understanding on his face. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully before finally speaking.

"You know Goten, when you were younger everybody became obsessed with my happiness. They all believed that because I lived way out here with only you for my company that I must be incredibly sad. They wanted to fix me.

"I wasn't sad, not really. Mostly I was angry about a lot of stuff. Moving closer to Bulma or finding a girl friend wouldn't have made a difference."

He stopped to sip his coffee again and I couldn't help but ask, "Are you still angry now?"

He laughed and smiled. "No. Piccolo showed up and threatened to beat the crap out of me. Then he found the reason behind my anger and...I got a second chance."

"It was Goku, wasn't it." He looked surprised but nodded. I'd always known there was something about the way they moved around each other. Comfortable but strained at times.

"My point is that once everyone stopped trying to make me happy they realized I already was. Not everyone is meant to be surrounded by people, Goten. There isn't a perfect equation for emotional stability. It's not all about the round hole and square peg. Sometimes you get a square peg in a square hole."

I nodded slowly. "So no wedding bells in the future?"

He snorted and then drained his cup before pushing back his chair and standing. "No."

I sighed; more relieved then I wanted to admit. "Fine. Next time the shrink mentions it I know what I'll tell him."

"Oh?"

I snickered, "Yeah. I'll tell him not to worry, you're just square."­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

I didn't see Trunks again until Monday. He was waiting for me at my locker, quieter than usual. I knew things got hard for him, his parents fought all the time, and it seemed like when they tired with each other they took it out on him. Bulma nagged endlessly and I don't think Uncle Vegeta has ever gone easy on Trunks. About anything. I know they love him but sometimes I think they might be killing him a little too. He'd go off and spend time with his family and then come back either quiet and pensive, or acting like a jerk.

I once heard Piccolo tell dad that if Trunks didn't spend so much time at our house, he'd probably have ended up a mini-version of his dad. The idea of Trunks bellowing and going on about weak worthless people had scared me so bad I begged him to stay-over two consecutive weeks in a row.

Trunks is my best friend and a bigger pain in the ass youll never find, but he's still distinctly himself. So when he comes back from time with his family acting all weird, I know something's going on. Something not very good.

"Hey." I leaned over and poked Trunks in the side with my pencil, ignoring the fact that we were suppose to be listening to the teacher talk about Edgar Allen Poe.

He slouched down further in his chair, blowing hair out of his face. "What?"

The trouble with Trunks is you can never outright ask him if something is wrong. He'd never come out and say his parents are screwing with his head. I'm not sure he even realizes that's the problem. He just knows he feels crappy and it's their fault. To make it worse, when he comes back his sense of pride is always skewed ninety-degrees out of control.

I never spar with him when he's like this. We did once and things quickly got way out of control. He didn't hold back and he wouldn't back down. I can match him level for level, hit for hit but I don't like it. When you go at someone like that it's only with an intent to kill and there is nothing else. If dad hadn't shown up when he did, it would have been bad. He ordered me to leave the room and just calmly held Trunks while he screamed and swore. I don't know what they talked about, it was never brought up again. A couple hours passed and they came out. Trunks didn't say anything and just went to bed. The next morning it was like it had never happened.

So I didn't ask Trunks what was wrong or demand he snap out of it. I just reminded him he wasn't alone. "Dad's making Mexican tonight. We're suppose to go pick up hominy and mole after classes."

He stared at me blankly for a moment before slowly nodding. "Pisole and tamales, huh?"

"Hell yeah, man." I grinned. "Only the best."

He slowly smiled back and sat up a little straighter. "Right. Only the best."

TBC…

Major author note-

I had a bit of a mental breakdown in regards to this story. I got part way into this chapter and discovered that I hate this story. There was no doubt in my mind that I Despised This Story.

Where are you going and where have you been? I knew where I'd been, it was the going part that had me screwed up. I needed something. The first story turned into this big angsty self-searching thing with Gohan. I had him screwed up. I had him grumpy. Then I gave him a reason and fixed it. The end. What the hell was I thinking when I started this sequel? I was thinking that I wanted more good DBZ stories. What a TERRIBLE reason to start a story. And then it turned into the same situations over and over. I was disgusted. I needed to get back to where I was in the beginning. I needed to find my damn reason again. I needed a freaking PLOT! I found I wasn't even writing the same style anymore. I prefer an emphasis on internal monologue, prose and stuff and suddenly all I could churn out was lame ass dialogue. I hate dialogue. I suck at dialogue. Dialogue is damn boring to write.

So I went back and re-read chapters. I looked at the parts where I started to have something and then seemed to lose it as I got caught up in dialogue. I wrote other things and pretended that Drummer's March didn't exist. But finally after many months, I think I've found it again. I don't have a specific outline, because I never work that way, but I think I'm back on track.

I need to apologize to all the people I've let down by just dropping this story. I hate authors who do that. And I became one. Such a hypocrite. I particularly want to thank Akito Shoma and Super Saiyajin Louie. If you guys are still reading, this one's for you. Thank you so much for your support and for the kick in the pants.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of DragonBall Z. I don't own the characters, I haven't made any moeny.

**The Drummer's March**

_Chapter 8_

Trunks had lived in the shadow of himself his entire life.

Growing up it had always been, _you should try to study harder, the other Trunks could do this math when he was six _or_ my son Trunks defeated his first opponent when he was only ten, you dont train hard enough_. Trunks this…Trunks that... itd be enough to give anyone a complex.

Sometimes he wanted to stand in the middle of the room and scream, "I am Trunks!" But his mom probably would have only responded something about Trunks being such a more mature and responsible boy. That was the line he got a lot lately. _So mature for a boy his age_…

Trunks supposed it was probably a good thing the shrink had decided Goten was the one with the issues, God knew what he would have made of his own screwed up life.

Really, Goten had it so easy sometimes it made Trunk sick with envy and anger. Most of the time it didnt get to him, but there were days when the comparisons and obvious disappointment got to be unbearable and he wanted to lash out and hurt Goten. Hurt him for having someone who recognized him for himself. For not always being compared to a person that only existed in a bizarre spatial time sort of way. For having someone like Gohan to go home to.

He use to run away from home. When hed show up at Goten's window, it was always after a particularly hurting round of why cant you be more like…. His parents favorite game it seemed, when they weren't busy yelling at each other. Trunks figured it was their way of communicating. Unless they were yelling at each they seemed to revolve in entirely different spheres. His mother completely absorbed in her work, his father completely wrapped up in training. Occasionally they surfaced for family related things, mostly because Bra was good at demanding attention. Trunks didn't really give a damn anymore.

Unfortunately, when the school called home about problems, it was apparently something important enough that they both paid attention.

His mother had been furious. After screaming at him for what seemed like hours, and then screaming at his father for encouraging barbarian Saiyan behavior, shed stormed out of the room. Ironically his father had only wanted to know why he hadn't just punched the stupid goalie. Unfortunately hed also told Trunks that since he had so much free time on his hands to be bored, then he obviously wasn't training enough. Consequently hed been grounded, Vegeta-style, which meant hours of grueling training.

There were days Trunks would give anything to have an undo button for life. Then if you took a look and realized, oops fucked that up, you could just hit the button a couple times and reset things to a better place to start.

Unfortunately he didn't have an undo button which was why he was standing in the middle of the Badlands waiting for his father to try and blow him up. Trunks was getting very good at dodging. Unfortunately, dodging seemed to just piss Vegeta off even more.

"What is wrong with you, boy? Has all your time with that brat, turned you into a coward? Stop running and fight me!"

Vegeta was hovering in the air above him, hair shining gold in the light and energy pulsing at his fingertips. Trunks knew that if he didn't get moving those blasts were going to be headed at him. His clothes were already shredded from several near misses and he was breathing heavily.

"I am fighting you!" He shot a couple blasts upward and then took off, trying to get behind his father long enough to use a strong energy wave. All this earned him was a kick to the head that sent him hurtling back down to the ground. He wondered if he stayed in his nice little crater, would his father leave him alone or send another blast.

"Damn it! I didn't raise you to become some weak excuse for a fighter. At this rate youll never be as good as the other Trunks. Nothing but a waste of my time."

Trunks watched his father turn in disgust and felt his world burn hot and cold. Always the other Trunks, never good enough, never good enough for them, never what they wanted.

With a scream he burst into the air and shot a blast towards Vegetas retreating back. "I am Trunks! Damn it, look at me. Look at ME!"

Blast after blast he shot, screaming his fury, not seeing the look of triumph the other man gave him, only knowing that he was angry and hurting and wanted to make his father acknowledge _him _for a change. Him and not some ethereal figure from the past.

For an eternity, time disappeared. Mountains crumbled, bones broke, blood splattered and the concussion of blasts meeting, rocked the earth. He only saw his father and his smirk and the ghost of some other Trunks and wanted to destroy it all.

Then time appeared again and the world was red with the blood running in his eyes and he hurt, pinned against a rock by blast after blast as he heard his father roar, "That isnt good enough!"

He could see a larger blast coming, not one large enough to kill him but mostly likely enough to put him out for several days and just watched it grimly, knowing that he would never measure up to that other Trunks and they could all just go fuck themselves.

He could hear his father yell that if he was a real warrior and true son of his he would get off his ass and move. But he didn't care. So he watched it come and wondered if it would hurt more than he was hurting already.

He didn't see Gohan until he was standing directly in front of him.

Suddenly the world was very large and silent; a silence that throbbed in Trunks ears and made it impossible to understand what Gohan was saying when he turned to look at him. The blue sky became darker and the ground reached up to meet it, merging until the world became nothing but black.

* * *

Gohan couldn't remember the last time hed been so angry. The anger that made his eyes turn cold and the world slowed to distinctions of absolutes. Usually it was a matter of kill and killed, destroy and move on; in this case Gohan realized he couldn't kill Vegeta, though he wasn't opposed to a little maiming.

Hed been working in his study when he heard Goten scream. A bundle of black then gold flew into the room and slammed against his chest and he struggled to understand the words that were pouring out of Gotens mouth in frantic bursts.

"Trunks! Dad, you have to get Trunks!" Gohan noticed the tears pouring down Gotens face before he felt the energy signature rising in the distance. Rising and spiking and then rising some more. Gohan knew that signature as well as his own and recognized it as Vegeta throwing blasts. It was the second signature, one that was dimming and then totally disappeared, that was causing Gotens frantic tears.

Gently pushing Goten into his computer chair, he nodded and left.

Maiming might not be enough, and Gohan forced himself to not look at Trunks, who had collapsed behind him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Vegeta?" He didn't feel the need to yell, instead his voice was icy cold and he watched with no small satisfaction when the other man flinched.

"This is no business of yours, Gohan. The child is capable of protecting himself. Hes become soft and coddled and needs to learn a lesson."

The answer didn't surprise Gohan, though the intensity of his feelings did. "Hes a child, Vegeta. Not a little soldier, not a miniature adult. What the hell were you thinking?"

Turning he crouched down and picked the boy up, noting with anger that several of his bones were broken. He hung limp in his arms.

Vegeta made a move to come forward and Gohan turned his head to stare at him. "Back off."

"Hes not your child, you have no right to interfere." Vegeta scowled and powered down, hair settling into its usual mess.

"Youre such an ass." Gohan gave Vegeta another warning look and then carefully settled Trunks more firmly before flying off.

* * *

I had been pacing outside in the garden when I felt dad returning. I had grabbed the bag of senzu beans I knew he kept in the drawer by his bed and flew up to meet him, too impatient to wait any longer.

Id never seen Trunks so beat up before. Id never seen anyone so beat up before. I gave the bag to dad and he pushed a bean into Trunks mouth. And I held my breath waiting for them to work, waiting for the pain lines to disappear from Trunks face, just waiting. Eventually, his face smoothed out and dad announced that the worst was healed. As he carried Trunks inside I could hear him swearing softly.

Later, I found dad sitting behind his desk with his head in his hands. He looked up briefly and then dropped them, pushing away from the desk. "Goten."

"His dads an asshole."

Dad sighed and then walked over to rest a hand on my head. "I know."

Later that day, Bulma called. I didn't hear what dad said to her on the phone because Piccolo had sent me outside to practice juggling. Then he insisted I practice wave walking on my hands, which requires high levels of concentration to focus energy on the water, enough to keep you above it but not so much to push you up. By the time Id finished all the weird tasks he set me to, it was getting late and I collapsed into the bed next to Trunks and fell asleep.

TBC...

Author's note: Well you didn't think I'd let a chapter like that go by without commenting, did you? Honestly though, despite what it might seem like, this isn't a 'Trunks is abused by his parents' sort of story. He's not really, it's just...well Vegeta _is _an ass. I'd write more to this chapter but I'm feeling a little stressed, I have so many projects going on right now and I really wanted to get another chapter of this out to everyone. Especially since I've been such a flake lately.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of DragonBall Z. I don't own the characters, I haven't made any money.

**The Drummer's March**

_Chapter 9_

It was the smell of bacon cooking that woke me up. That, and the feeling of someone poking me repeatedly in the ribs as well. Grunting I slowly opened my eyes and then nearly broke my neck falling out of bed in surprise because Trunks was hovering upside down above me.

"Geez Goten, took you long enough. I thought you were going to sleep all day."

From my position on the floor I could only gape at him, totally speechless. Trunks floated down and crouched in front of me, waving his hand in front of my face. "Yo, Earth to Goten. Hey Goten!"

Suddenly I leapt forward and tackled him, pinning him to the ground. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, you bastard!"

I shook his shoulders and told myself that my vision was going blurry because my eyes were still adjusting from waking up. "You got that? Never again you jerk!"

The surprise of being startled with the relief that he was ok rolled together and I couldn't tell for which reason I was yelling. His eyes widened and I slumped over, our foreheads resting against each other.

"I'm sorry."

The words were spoken softly and I probably would have missed them if I hadn't been right above him. Lifting my head slightly I looked into his eyes and saw the apology that was offered there. His eyes told me everything he couldn't say.

I'm sorry you were scared. I'm sorry you felt helpless. I'm sorry I made you worry. Are we ok?

In response to his last unspoken question I nodded, "Damn straight." Then I thumped him good and hard on the shoulder.

When we walked into the kitchen a little while later, Dad was hovering over the coffee pot and Piccolo was watching him with an amused expression on his face. "Haven't you heard the phrase, a watched pot never boils?"

"Oh be quiet. It's not suppose to boil anyway." Dad turned to glare at the coffee pot and point his finger at it. "I command you to perk. Perk, damn it."

Piccolo smirked, "I don't think that's going to work either."

"What about, good things come to those who wait?" I grabbed two plates from the cupboard, handing one to Trunks and then sitting down at the table.

"Or, absence makes the heart grow fonder." Trunks added around a mouthful of toast, scooping eggs and bacon onto his plate.

Dad clutched his chest in mock pain and pretended to stagger a little. "Three against one, you're all so cruel." He walked over and set his cup down before ruffling our hair. "Good morning."

Trunks and I exchanged grins and quickly swallowed the food in our mouths. "Morning."

I think breakfast is my favorite time of the day. Well morning anyway, it's just a bonus that there's a meal involved. Morning is when the sunlight pours into the kitchen, lighting up the walls and making every surface glow warmly. Time seems to pass by slower. If Piccolo is visiting the room is filled with his quiet grumblings and dad's laughter.

I love the smell of coffee, a smell that I always associate with dad. He only drinks it in the morning, the rest of the day he'll drink tea or milk. But in the morning he likes to have coffee. Each day he stumbles into the kitchen half awake and grinds beans for the coffee maker. The smell and sound form a ritual that I've known for as long as I can remember.

Personally, I think the taste of coffee is disgusting. Trunks and I have tried drinking it several times and always ended up with a stomachache. Obviously it's an acquired taste. I once asked dad how he started drinking coffee and he just laughed and made some comment about hyperactive three year olds.

After Trunks had snatched one last piece of bacon from the table, we took off before Piccolo could rope us into doing extra chores. Hiding first thing in the morning was always a good idea, Piccolo had these strange ideas about being young and training the mind along with the body. This usually meant meditation and then some sort of mind clearing activity like weeding. Once he had us sweep the dirt path that wound around our garden.

Not exactly how I wanted to spend my last day off before going back to school tomorrow.

Somehow we ended up in dad's study. Trunks was perched at the window watching the waves below as I spun slow circles in dad's chair.

"There's got to be something you can do to make them stop comparing the two of you."

Trunks looked up but wasn't surprised I knew what he'd been thinking. We did that a lot; it was as natural as breathing. Another aspect of our relationship 'You can call me Mack' wouldn't understand. I winced, "I have to visit that lame shrink again tomorrow."

Trunks scowled and flicked a small energy ball at me, "Don't even think about it Goten."

I flicked the ball back and tipped my head to study the books on the walls. "Well it's not that bad of an idea. However anything he had to say would most probably be based on stuff he'd read." I lifted my head and our eyes met in complete understanding.

* * *

When Gohan walked into his study a few hours later he was startled to find the room in complete chaos. Books and papers were strewn about the floor and piled precariously on the top of his desk.

The boys were lying on their stomachs and he could just make out their murmurs as they poured over several books, completely oblivious to their surroundings.

Quietly he closed the door and walked out to the deck where Piccolo was meditating. Throwing himself into a chair he poured a glass of tea and then stared at it as if he couldn't remember what to do with it.

"Sometimes I wish they could stay five forever because it was so much easier to make the world a better place. Hurts could be healed with a hug and an ice cream. Why is it that when we get older the hurts seem to last so much longer?"

Gohan held his glass up and turned it, ice cubes clinking against the side. The tea glowed amber in the sun. Piccolo opened one eye to look at Gohan and then sighed, coming over and taking the glass away, setting it down.

"When you're a kid, you're oblivious to most of what's going on around you, so your parents have to do the worrying for you. Your only problems as a kid tend to be skinned knees and hurt feelings.

As we get older our problems seem to get more complicated. However as we get older we discover that often our problems seem worse then they are and we learn to deal with them better."

Piccolo reached over and ruffled Gohan's hair. "You've got to stop trying to hold the world on your shoulders, kid. They'll be fine, you did good."

Gohan scowled and batted Piccolo's hand away, trying without success to smooth his hair. "I know that! What the hell am I taking advice from you for? I'm the one with the degree."

Smirking Piccolo just shrugged and handed Gohan back his tea. "I don't know kid, you tell me. What the hell are you doing not taking advice you know already?"

Gohan groaned and dropped his head to grab his hair with his hands, tugging slightly. "Oh, shut up." Suddenly he looked up and glared at Piccolo, "And stop calling me kid!"

* * *

Dad's books hadn't been as useful as we'd hoped. Unfortunately while the information was all extremely relevant none of it was very helpful for Trunks. The most common suggestion had been for the parents to sit down and talk with their children. When I'd suggested this Trunks had _cried_, he'd laughed so hard.

I was thinking about this as I sat across from the school counselor. I hadn't exactly promised Trunks I wouldn't bring it up and it couldn't hurt to get a second opinion.

"I have a question for you."

The shrink stopped jotting notes on his pad and looked up at me with an almost eager expression. I sighed and pressed on, "Say hypothetically I was constantly being compared to my older brother. He's practically a genius, gets good grades, is very responsible; a model son.

"Mom and Dad are always telling me I should be more like him. They don't seem to ever see me for who I am and seem to only want me to be a copy of him. How do I get them to stop comparing us and accept me for myself?"

The shrink seemed startled but then his expression turned thoughtful. "I gather this is a reverse of the old 'say I have this friend' question."

I shrugged and he tapped the pen to his chin. "Well the best approach is to talk to them. Maybe they don't realize how often they compare...you," He smiled slightly and I scowled. "It's most likely they have no idea how much it bothers you and if you talked to them you could explain the situation."

I silently agreed with his assessment but I had a worry of my own I hadn't mentioned to Trunks. "What happens if they really think the other guy is better? What if we sit down and they say that I just need to change because I'm the one lacking?"

"I can't imagine any parent telling their child that, but I suppose it is a valid worry." He pushed back a little from his desk and put his pen down.

I realize I'd been incredibly lucky growing up. Not many people could have somebody as incredible as dad taking care of them. Bulma was a great person but she was really busy and sometimes I wondered if she regretted being a mom. Vegeta had always been wound up too tight but as Trunks got older he seemed to measure up to his dad's expectations less and less.

The whole thing was screwed up. I wasn't the one who should be sitting here kicking my feet for half an hour every week. Personally I think Trunks just needed to have one good screaming match at his parents and get it over with. Both were the type to not get anything unless it was banged into their heads. Maybe Trunks just needed to go all teenage angsty on them or something.

I chuckled at the mental picture. If I could convince Trunks to try that, I'd totally want front row seats.

TBC...

Ha. This is called avoiding real work. Like taxes and booking hotels and writing that damn continuation to Happily Ever After…

I'm not entirely satisfied how this has turned into such a Trunks focused story. A part of me is tempted to scrap it and go back to fluffy scenes but then I'd be without a plot again and that sucked. Anyway, thank you everyone who reviewed. It means a lot and I feel like I'm not sitting on this thing alone. I don't normally do this but I wanted to thank you guys for all your encouragement:

Manicalpha - I don't think I've ever received so many awesome's before. I was very tickled. I'm glad I didn't let you down.

Lady Addiction - Your reviews totally make my day but terrify me. God I hope I didn't mess this chapter up!

Super Saiyajin Louie - I'm doing my best, thanks for sticking with me!

Chibi Super Pan - Oh man, hopefully this falls under the late chapter instead of bad chapter!

And to everyone else- **THANK YOU!**


	10. Chapter 10

**The Drummer's March**

_Chapter 10_

In the end, the counselor was about as much help as the books had been. Not surprising since he'd probably read all the same ones. Unfortunately that didn't change the fact that the first suggestion, for Trunks to talk to his parents, was the best advice.

"_Have _you ever said anything to them?" We were bent over a Chem. Lab bench, supposedly studying a petri dish with bacteria.

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Don't be a moron, of course I've said something."

I propped my chin in my hands and stared at him. "Well? What did you say?"

He glared at me in exasperation. "_Stop comparing me to Trunks!_"

There was a moment of thoughtful silence and then he shook his head. "On second thought, I don't think I ever said anything that stupid."

I nodded sympathetically. It was hard to make a serious argument when you sounded like you were in the midst of an identity crisis.

"You could always change your name."

He snorted.

"No seriously. I can just picture it. Hey mom. Hey dad. I've decided to change my name. From now on you may address me as . . ." I paused and then smirked. "Boxer."

Trunks blinked and then his eyes narrowed dangerously, "Boxer Briefs?"

I snickered.

"Goten," He informed me calmly. "I'm going to kill you."

I ran.

* * *

When I got home later that afternoon, dad had the study door shut. A shut door usually meant Disturb Me At Your Own Peril, so I tiptoed past and went to find Piccolo. He was up on the roof, which also meant I was supposed to give him space, but honestly the consequences of bothering him were far less than if I went into the study. Piccolo may be powerful but he's got nothing on Dad. Piccolo doesn't revoke my dessert privileges for one thing.

I've never understood why, but Piccolo seemed to find our roof extremely relaxing. Or at least, the few feet above our roof where he was currently hovering, arms folded and eyes closed in meditation.

Naturally I chose to ignore his unspoken desire for privacy. Instead I hopped up to hover next to him, slowly spinning myself in circles. "I've got a question."

He cracked open an eye and then sighed. "What?"

"Tell me what you know about the Trunks from the future." When he opened both eyes to glare at me, I quickly tacked on, "Please?"

Another heavy sigh but he lowered himself to sit on the roof. "What do you want to know?"

"Was he really all that?" I squinted in the sunlight and then settled next to him, legs dangling over the edge.

Piccolo thought about the question for a second and then shrugged. "He was good. Really good." He turned to look at me, mouth upturned in a crooked smirk. "Your dad was better."

I grinned. "Naturally."

Piccolo frowned and tipped his head back as if to study the sky. "You have to realize though, that Trunks, the Trunks from the future, came from a life far harsher than anything you could comprehend. The world was destroyed, humanity had been annihilated and the only person left to fight was Trunks. In his life he'd watched all his friends and heroes die.

"And when he was younger than you, he watched one of his most important people die right in front of him."

Piccolo looked down at me, his face filled with an emotion I couldn't describe. "It was your father."

Funny how a simple question can come up to bite you in the ass. There was a roaring in my ears and my stomach suddenly felt sick. _Oh there was this guy Trunks and by the way your dad died a brutal death._ _Dead. Gone. Not here._

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. At that moment I didn't want to hear anymore, regretted ever asking Piccolo to tell me about it. But he kept talking.

"In a way you truly are, Fortune's Child, Goten. You were born to your powers, embracing them and never having to struggle. When you wanted to ascend you just did, naturally as breathing. For most people, reaching just a fraction of your level is the accomplishment of a lifetime's work of labor."

I wondered briefly how we'd gone from a, 'your Dad died a gruesome death in a different time line' speech to a 'be grateful you young whelp' speech.

Piccolo reached over and ruffled my hair. "Stop scowling; you're missing my point. Trunks went through horrific ordeals to become the man he did. He's nothing like your friend now, and more the better. No child should have to experience that kind of pain."

He stopped and I looked up, that strange expression was on his face again. Before I had a chance to ask him about it though, he shook his head and turned to look me in the eye. "The Trunks from the future came here to give us a warning. He ended up staying to help us fight, and ended up losing his life in the process."

I started, shocked and Piccolo chuckled. "Don't worry, the Dragon Balls brought him back good as new and eventually he went back to his own time to start rebuilding a new life."

"Bulma and Vegeta must have been torn up about that."

He snorted. "They seemed genuinely sorry to see him go, but Bulma also had her hands full with her new baby as well. And Vegeta hardly spoke to the kid the entire time he was here."

I stared at him in surprise. "Then why do they always carry on as if he was the greatest thing since sliced bread?"

"Because it's easier for them to nag Trunks than it is to admit they're wrong?" He shrugged. "I have no idea. Adults aren't perfect, Goten, they make mistakes. And for all her brains, Bulma doesn't always see the whole picture."

I grinned. "And Vegeta?"

Piccolo groaned. "Don't get me started, kid."

He pushed away from the roof and flew up to resume his meditation. I turned to go and then another thought occurred to me.

"Hey Piccolo. You said the Dragon Balls were used to bring Trunks back after he died. Did he use them to bring my dad back in his own time?"

Piccolo looked down at me and then shook his head. "No kid, I'm afraid not. In Trunks' time the Dragon Balls had been destroyed."

I swallowed and nodded slowly. "Ah. Thanks."

The kitchen was cool after the heat of the roof and I stared around the room blankly before wandering over to the fridge. I thought I'd get a snack but when I actually looked at food, the idea of eating made me feel a little sick. I sighed and shut the fridge door. I wandered out of the kitchen and started down the hallway toward my room. My feet seemed to get heavier though with each step until I dragged to a halt outside the closed study door.

Obviously he wasn't dead. I could hear Dad, typing at the keyboard, a busy sound that I'd heard all my life. Slowly, I slid down until I was crouched in front of the door with my forehead pressed against the wood. I was being ridiculous. I could hear him typing. If I tried, I could sense the steady calm ebb of his energy. He was right there, perfectly fine, right on the other side of the door.

I was still arguing with myself when the door opened and I nearly fell into the room. Dad gazed down at me in surprise and then concern. "Goten?"

I just blinked at him, wondering how undignified it would be if I were to ask for a hug. He crouched down, brushing hair away from my face. "Goten, what's wrong?"

To Hell with dignity. I threw myself into Dad's arms and burst into tears.

* * *

Gohan quietly pushed Goten's door open and stepped into the room. Light from the moon shone through the window, allowing him to see despite the darkness. Goten was sprawled across his bed, one arm curled around his pillow, blankets flung halfway to the floor.

He'd been furious at Piccolo for telling Goten those stories about the other Trunks. It was a complicated issue, and while he agreed Goten and Trunks both needed to know their family history, he didn't think they needed to know everything. And certainly not details like his alter-time line death. Goten had been incredibly upset, staying close to him for the rest of the evening. It would have been endearing, except he kept seeing Goten's horrified and tear-streaked face in his mind.

Gohan had believed that if he let things just develop naturally, it would all work out. All teenagers argue with their parents; it was the natural course of life. And with parents as independent and dominating as Vegeta and Bulma, it was inevitable. But things seemed to be spiraling out of control and he wondered how much worse it would get before it got better.

Maybe it was time to step in.

He gently pulled the blankets back up over Goten, smiling when the boy murmured and clutched his pillow closer.

There would be no more tears.

TBC . . .

(Oh my God, it writes! It updates. It's ALIVE! Yes indeed, this does appear to be chapter ten. Now the question is, how long before chapter eleven?)


	11. Chapter 11

**The Drummer's March**

_Chapter 11_

Trunks had come to school that day in a bad mood.

Earlier that morning, his mother had started in again about how he spent too much time at Goten's house, how he was never home, how he never participated in family events . . . his father of course, had been quick to point out that Goten was a bad influence and was the reason why Trunks didn't train nearly enough. This of course brought the conversation around to how the other Trunks had done everything for his family and was never ungrateful for the benefits he had.

Trunks sincerely wished the goody-two-shoes future version of himself was there right that moment so he could punch him in the face. As far as he was concerned, the other Trunks could have his family and good riddance.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Goten showing up and thumping him on the shoulder.

"Hello sunshine." Goten was grinning and suddenly Trunks wanted to do nothing more than wipe the grin off the other boy's face.

"Tell me something, Goten. Do you practice the stupid look or does it come naturally to you?" Trunks knew he was being a jerk. But he couldn't help lashing out and Goten was available.

Goten stared at him for a moment and then held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. I can see now is not a good time." He gestured toward his locker and then hitched a thumb down the hall. "I'm gonna just get my stuff nice and easy- like and then I'll be on my way to class. Nice talking to you."

After Goten left, Trunks groaned, leaning forward to bang his forehead against his locker. "Damn it."

They didn't speak again until lunchtime. Trunks was glaring sourly at his sandwich when Goten wandered over and dropped his tray down across from him.

"So." He paused and picked up his own sandwich before looking across it at Trunks. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Are you sure?"

"I said no, Goten."

"Oh come on, it might help. Get it off your chest."

"God damn it, what part of _no _do you not understand?"

There was silence throughout the cafeteria and Trunks realized he'd stood up and was yelling. Goten stood up as well, a hurt expression on his face.

"I was just trying to help."

"Well there's nothing you can do. Just drop it. It's not like you'd understand anyway. You've got the perfect deal. Perfect dad, perfect life. Nobody ever hassles you about anything."

Goten opened his mouth to speak but Trunks cut him off. "Just stop. I've had it. If I'm not being nagged about Wonder-Boy, I'm being nagged about you. Hell, my life would be a lot easier if I never hung out with you again."

"That's not fair, Trunks." Goten was scowling, both hands planted on the table. "It's not my fault your parents are a complete waste of space."

"What did you say?"

Goten smirked. "You heard me. Your parents are totally nuts. Certifiable. Should never have been allowed to marry let alone procreate."

Trunks clenched his fists and snarled. "At least my mother didn't abandon me to run off with some bum of a deadbeat dad."

All the color drained from Goten's face. "What did you say?"

It was Trunks' turn to smirk. "You heard me."

* * *

Mack Gibbons was used to the sound of running feet and hollering. It was common for active students to go tearing down the halls between classes. However, it wasn't common to hear the PE teacher yelling as well.

The shouting drew closer and suddenly the door flew open and John Ueno, the Biology teacher burst into his office.

"You need to get to the cafeteria quick, Mack. Two of your boys are tearing up the place and nobody can get near them."

Mack jumped up from his seat and ran out the door after the other man. "Who is it?"

John shook his head. "You'll never believe it."

Mack wanted to ask what he meant by that, but they'd reached the cafeteria and he had his answer.

"What on Earth . . . ?"

Tables had been tipped over and the other students had scattered to stand against the walls. In the middle of the room Goten Son and Trunks Briefs were engaged in a serious fist fight.

Mack watched in horror as the PE teacher tried to break them apart and ended up flung against a table. Students scattered as Goten was slammed against a wall by Trunks. Mack wondered if it was over but then Goten suddenly brought a knee up between Trunks' legs and the other boy went skidding across the floor.

It didn't look like the fight was going to end anytime soon.

Another teacher ran into the room and Mack grabbed him by the arm. "Quick, get to the office and tell them to call Goten Son's father immediately. He needs to come here as fast as possible." The other teacher nodded and left and Mack turned back in time to see Trunks fly into a pile of chairs.

The fight continued, none of the teachers could get close enough to break the two up, all they could do was usher the other students out of the room as quickly as possible. Soon all that remained were a handful of teachers and the two boys themselves. Time seemed to drag, minutes suspended into hours and the punches grew more brutal. Mack was pretty sure they were both bleeding but it was hard to distinguish with the speed they were coming at each other.

Suddenly the cafeteria door opened. Mack looked up in relief, Goten's father had arrived. "Thank God. We can't stop them. I don't know what set them off but they're going to kill each other if we don't do something."

Goten's father nodded but didn't make any comment. His eyes narrowed into a hard coldness that was frightening. And suddenly he was in the middle of the room standing between the two boys in mid punch, holding their fists. Mack blinked. He hadn't even seen him move.

"That is quite enough."

The words were spoken quietly yet the entire room filled with obedient silence.

As Mack watched the chaos be brought to a complete standstill, part of a conversation he'd had with Goten once, drifted through his mind.

"_My dad says you want to talk to me so here I am."_

"_Do you always do what your dad says?"_

"_Of course."_

Mack shivered.

TBC . . .

(Short, sorry. But this chapter wanted to end there. Next chapter, showdown at the Brief Corral, the boys are in Hot Water and Gohan thinks about banging heads together.)


	12. Chapter 12

Oh man, I haven't updated in over a year. I wonder if anyone is still reading this? (listens to crickets) Heheh...that's what I thought.

**The Drummer's March**

_Chapter 12_

Gohan hadn't been so furious in a long time. He could tell Piccolo was worried, hovering in the background like some kind of concerned wife. However, Gohan was pretty sure he wouldn't do anything that couldn't be fixed with a couple sensu beans.

He stared at the bickering couple across from him. Pretty sure anyway.

The school had been more than happy to get rid of the boys and Gohan had escorted them back to the house with arms pinned behind their backs and the threat that if either spoke another word, he'd knock them out and carry them home over his shoulder.

They hadn't made a sound. As soon as they'd arrived he pointed toward the stairs. "Goten, go up to your room. Trunks, go to mine. Neither of you will leave those rooms until I come to get you. Is that understood?"

They'd nodded and gone off, heads down and fists still clenched in anger.

Vegeta and Bulma had arrived shortly after and now Gohan found himself at a loss as to how to approach what had become a huge mess.

"I'd suggest counseling but I don't think either would ever listen to anyone's advice." Piccolo leaned down and commented quietly.

Gohan snorted and shook his head. "Never in a million years."

They watched the couple argue for several minutes over who was responsible for this latest digression in their son's behavior before Gohan finally slammed his hands down on the coffee table in irritation. "Would you both just be quiet?"

They looked at Gohan in surprise and then down at the coffee table which lay smashed on the floor. He sighed. "Thank you."

"Where's Trunks?" Bulma looked around the room and then back at Gohan.

"Upstairs hopefully contemplating his actions." Gohan narrowed his eyes. "I have to wonder the same about you two."

Vegeta growled but Gohan ignored him in favor of standing up and walking toward the window. "Do you even care why they were fighting? Or is it all the same to you?" He sighed and then shook his head. "I can patch up his cuts and bumps but there isn't anything I can do about the bruises inside."

There was silence while Bulma looked puzzled and Vegeta ground his teeth. Gohan studied the couple but neither seemed inclined to comment. He let out a breath, disappointed. "I'll go fetch your son. The _only_ one you have, I might add."

* * *

Trunks was sitting on the bed with his back to the headboard and his knees drawn up to his chest. He looked up when Gohan walked in and then dropped his head back onto his arms.

"I wish you were my dad."

Gohan leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets. "You're parents have their good qualities."

Trunks snorted and peered up over his arms. "Name one."

Smiling, Gohan pushed away from the wall and held out a hand. "Well, they haven't killed you yet."

* * *

Piccolo found me hanging halfway out my window, legs dangling outside while I sat on the ledge.

"Are you coming, going or just enjoying the view?" He floated in front of me and then crossed his legs to sit as if he planned to meditate. Or make sure I didn't escape.

"I was just thinking." From the other side of the house, I could hear the Brief's copter take off. Bulma always insisted on using it while traveling and I had never figured out why Vegeta humored her. I could tell Trunks had gone with them and slumped, banging my head against the window frame.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Piccolo was staring off into space, but then blinked and looked at me. "It's not like you to lose control like that."

I shrugged, closing my eyes. I could still hear Trunks yelling at me, his expression triumphant at scoring the point. "_At least my mother didn't abandon me to run off with some bum of a deadbeat dad."_

Way to hit a guy where it hurt. Dad never talked about mom, and I didn't ask. It was sort of an unspoken rule. I knew it had something to do with Goku but I didn't press the issue. Dad always said she passed away in childbirth but when you live in a world full of guardians, gods and Dragon Balls, you know there's more to the story than died due to complications..

And I didn't want to know. Because it was probably bad and full of hurt and my life was just fine, thank you very much.

"Trunks is such a jerk." I scrubbed my face with my arm, though Piccolo had seen the tears anyway.

"We all lash out when we're in pain." Piccolo put a hand on my shoulder, patting it gently. "I'm sure he regrets his words and actions as much as you do."

I didn't say anything and eventually he ruffled my hair and then uncrossed his legs. "It'll work out Goten. I should think it would take more than a few harsh words and a black eye to break apart you two demons."

He grinned, thumped my shoulder and disappeared. Leaving me to stare out at the sky and wait for dad to show up and doll out my punishment. I wondered if I'd be painting the Lookout after all and collapsed backwards onto the floor with a groan.

* * *

"It's getting out of hand. The children shouldn't have to deal with the actions of the past." Piccolo stared ahead, his expression grim. "Instead of the problem resolving itself, it's just getting worse. We should do something."

"There are rules, you know that Piccolo."

Piccolo scowled and crossed his arms. "You _are_ the rules; I don't see why you can't bend them just a little."

Dende sighed and twirled his staff slowly in his hands. "You're asking for a lot Piccolo. Not only adjusting the present, but affecting the past as well."

"We've done it before!"

Dende looked up and stared at Piccolo intently. "Yes and it wasn't without repercussions. Whether they are good or bad, there _will_ be resulting consequences of our actions."

Piccolo nodded. "A pebble in the pond, spiraling out. I know that. But it doesn't have to be bad changes. And seriously, I don't see how bringing him here for a few days will change too many things in his time-line. It'll be like a vacation."

Dende shook his head and then laughed. "Who would ever have thought that you of all people would stand here discussing breaking the space-time continuum as a mere vacation."

Piccolo smiled for a second and then his expression faded to sadness. "I don't know what else to do."

They watched the wind flow around the building for long moments and then Dende banged the ground with his staff. "I'll do it. It's been a little dull lately, anyway. We could all use a little excitement."

Piccolo cackled. "And our boy Trunks could do with a good kick in the pants. And who better to deliver it than an older version of himself?"

They turned and headed back into the building, Dende muttering as they past through the gate. "Though, I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this. Fragmental time-conversions, alternate realities converging . . . If I had supervisor, he'd so be all over my ass."

Piccolo only chuckled and patted Dende on the back.

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

**The Drummer's March**

_Chapter 13_

In the end, I didn't have to paint the Lookout. However I _was _grounded indefinitely, and ordered to weed the garden, which sucked. I was also suspended from school with a possible expulsion hanging over my head. Dad said the only thing keeping us from the big chop was the guidance counselor. For some reason he was pleading our case.

I think Dad was the most upset about my lack of control. I didn't want to talk after the Briefs left so dad finally just ruffled my hair, delivered my punishment and went down to his study.

Something tells me things went down a little different in the Brief household. I wanted to feel bad for Trunks but I was still pissed. He always acted like this tragic character with the rotten childhood and dysfunctional family. His family was dysfunctional but he wasn't the only one with skeletons in his closet. Something he always managed to ignore, until he wanted to drag them out and play dirty in a fight.

I was viciously pulling weeds from the tomato patch when dad came out with a glass of lemonade. "Don't forget to leave some of the actual plants behind." He sat down in the grass next to me, picking up a small tomato plant I'd ripped up with the weeds.

I sighed, taking the plant and touching the leaves gently. "Sorry."

"Well I suppose it is a slightly less damaging way to let out frustration." He smiled and took the plant away from me, tossing it back on the pile of weeds. "Are you ready to talk?"

I laughed bitterly, "Where do I start?"

"How about the part that's really bothering you. Something caused you and Trunks to tear up a school cafeteria."

I fidgeted, idly pulling weeds and not looking at dad. "Trunks was mad and he said some stuff. And I sort of lost it."

Dad reached forward, pulling up a weed I missed. "What sort of stuff?"

I swallowed, hands hovering over the next weed and then I let them drop to the ground. "About how my mom left me to run off with a dead beat dad."

There was silence and I finally lifted my head to look at dad. He was staring at nothing, a blank expression on his face. I swallowed.

"Look, it's no big deal. Just forget I said anything." I shrugged and started pulling up weeds again.

Dad frowned and shook his head, then beckoned me out of the garden, patting the spot next to him. "No it's not that Goten, I was just surprised. I didn't realize Trunks knew anything about it."

"So it's true." I stared at the grass, my hands clenching into fists.

"Yes and no. She died in childbirth." He shrugged and then let out a sigh. "But, with the Dragon Balls, she could have come back."

I closed my eyes and leaned against dad. He let out another sigh and ran his hand through my hair. "I don't understand her reasons completely. I remember the entire time she was pregnant she was sick. She just seemed to give up. Maybe she thought it was okay because you had me."

There was a catch in his voice and I realized this was hard for him too. He had been left all alone.

"All she'd ever wanted was to be with Goku. I think in the end, she just got tired of waiting."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Weren't you sad?"

He laughed ruefully and handed me the lemonade he'd brought out. I'd forgotten all about it. "I guess I was sad, but mostly I was angry."

"But not anymore?" I took a drink, eyeing him over the top of my glass. I realized that those days where Piccolo showed up were probably days Dad was thinking about being left alone.

He grinned and cuffed me gently on the head. "Nah. I got you. And you've kept me way to busy be angry." He scanned the garden and then shook his head. "I swear I looked in the mirror this morning and found a grey hair. Can you believe it? Right here..."

He stopped talking, voice cut short and we both looked up, startled. "That's not normal." Dad's eyes narrowed.

It felt like Trunk's ki but slightly different. If I were to give it a color, Trunks' would be red. This ki was more of an orange and _very _powerful.

Suddenly dad stood, mouth drawn in a thin angry line. "Piccolo, you idiot!" He turned and looked at me, face grim. "Goten, I want you to stay here. I'm going to get Trunks and you two are not to leave the house. I mean it."

Then he was gone, a faint smell of ozone in his place. I swallowed. Instant Transmission. Dad almost never used that technique. If he was using it now, things were serious.

* * *

Slammed doors were the norm for the Brief household. So was yelling. There was a lot of both going on at the moment. Trunks tried to block it out by pulling the pillow over his head but his mother's voice was nothing if not shrill.

And then he felt it. His dad did too, if the roared, "Shut up woman!" was any indication. Silence descended and Trunks sat up. "What the hell is that?"

"Trunks!" His dad sounded pissed.

"It's not me!" It did feel an awful lot like him though. He could hear his dad pounding up the stairs and groaned.

The same time his bedroom door flew open, Gohan appeared next to his bed. Trunks stared wide eyed, not sure if he should be watching Gohan or his dad. Then Gohan reached out and grabbed his arm and they were gone . . .

. . . and standing in Goten's yard. Well the garden. Goten had a glass in his hand and looked as shocked as Trunks felt. He stared at them blankly then held out his glass. "You want some lemonade?"

Trunks stared at the glass, Goten's surprised expression and the tomato patch they were currently standing in the middle of. He couldn't help but laugh. Then he cried.

* * *

Piccolo was pleased. Dende was relieved. Trunks was simply confused.

"Hey guys." He looked around and then looked back at the two standing in front of him. "What's up?"

* * *

TBC...(I promise! A short update, sorry but it's been sitting on my computer for a month and I felt if I didn't get it out now, I'd never get anymore of it written.) 


	14. Chapter 14

Here I am. Wow. I wouldn't even be following this story anymore if I were a fan. It's been deader than dead for years. Life and all that, you know? I turned into one of _those_ authors. Who has this epic story and then just leaves it hanging and never finishes it. So in order to try and balance some karma, here I am trying to finish this.

**The Drummer's March**

_Chapter 14_

I barely had time to register Dad being gone before he was back. Trunks was with him, looking incredibly surprised and a little scared. I didn't know what was going on and I was still mad at him but Trunks was never scared and that was more upsetting than anything else put together.

Not knowing what else to do I held out the glass still in my hand. "Do you want some lemonade?"

Trunks looked at me then, and things seemed to fall apart. He started to laugh but then reached toward me and when I grabbed his arm, he just crumpled. In my entire life I had never seen Trunks cry. Never. Not when he was stung by a bee, not when his dad beat the crap out of him 'training'.

I held onto him, and looked up at Dad helplessly.

He crouched down next to us, smoothing Trunks hair. "I'll find out what's going on."

"Dad?" He was already standing though, and I could tell he was furious. "I have to go talk to Piccolo. I won't be gone long. Take care of Trunks, Goten. He really needs his best friend right now."

I nodded and held Trunks tighter.

* * *

"I'm going to throttle that green neck of yours, Piccolo. I mean it this time."

Trunks looked up as a man suddenly appeared in the courtyard of the tower. He crackled energy, and Trunks nearly jumped back in defense before he realized he recognized the person.

"Master Gohan?" Trunks shook his head, to clear the image. No, most definitely not. However, it was Gohan, but a strangely intense version that he couldn't reconcile with his memories of the boy he last saw.

He was radiating power, and the Saiyan in Trunks couldn't help but wonder if he was throttling back or if this was all of it. Either way it was much stronger than he remembered, probably stronger than Goku and _definitely_ stronger than his father.

Trunks raised his hand in a wave but Gohan didn't seem to notice him. He was intent on bearing down upon the two Nameks.

"You meddling, manipulating old fart." He spun and pointed a finger at Dende, "And you! I can't believe you agreed to this. You're getting to be just as bad as Piccolo. You can't go yanking people around as if they have no say in the matter."

"It worked last time, didn't it?" Trunks was interested by how smug Piccolo appeared.

Gohan's fury suddenly seemed to disappear and the icy calm that was left was even more terrifying. "There is a huge difference between what happened last time and what you have done now. You had no right to do this, you do not get to play God with people's lives and you certainly don't get to mess with an innocent child's emotions."

Piccolo appeared a little chagrined by this announcement and Dende actually squirmed.

"You tell Vegeta and Bulma, if they come near my house or the two boys there will be blood. And it won't be mine."

Trunks stepped forward a little and coughed, not really wanting to draw attention to himself but feeling some answers were definitely needed.

Gohan turned then, appraising him slowly without a hint of any welcome. "The same goes for you."

And then he was gone.

Trunks gulped and gave the Nameks a shaky laugh, "Phew, you didn't tell me about the welcome wagon."

Piccolo sighed heavily, "A lot has happened. Come inside and I'll explain, Vegeta and Bulma will be here shortly, I'm sure."

* * *

After Dad left, I shifted and tried to get Trunks to look at me. He'd stopped shaking but he still had my shirt clenched in his fist. "So about that lemonade…"

He laughed then, a small weak one but it didn't result in a melt down so I chalked that up in the plus category. He let go of my shirt and sprawled backwards on the ground, throwing an arm up to cover his face. "Sorry."

"Dude, I think you're entitled to at least one breakdown after everything that's happened. Happening?" I nudged his hand with the cold glass and he sat up to take it. His eyes were red and puffy and I looked away not wanting to embarrass him any more than he was already.

"I'm sorry about what I said the other day, too. I was being a jerk. You know me, just following the family footsteps, hit him low and dirty when you fight."

"That's not you. You don't always fight like that. Besides, I was a jerk too. Peace?" I offered a fist and he nodded and bumped it with his own. My stomach chose that moment to growl and I grinned. "You hungry?"

He gave me a weak smile in return. "Starving. Mom sent me up to my room without dinner, next thing I know there's this weird energy, my dad is storming into my room and then you're dad is there." He shook his head, "I have no idea what is going on."

I stood up, brushing dirt off my pants and then offering him a hand up. "I don't either but barbecue ribs will help. We haven't eaten yet, so there's still plenty."

"Serious? The kind your dad makes with the blackberry jam?"

I nodded and he took off running. "What are you waiting for? Come on!"

"Make sure you save some for me."

I spun around and Dad caught me before I could knock us both over. "Hey, I told you I'd be back."

"Did Piccolo know what's going on?" I looked up and he smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Tell you what, how about we go eat dinner and then I'll explain afterward."

I didn't really want to wait but I could tell he'd made up his mind. "Besides, if we don't get in there, Trunks will have eaten all the ribs and you'll be left with nothing but salad for dinner."

I yelped and let go, turning to dash inside. "Trunks! You'd better leave some for me!"

* * *

Piccolo didn't get a chance to explain what was going on before Bulma and Vegeta arrived. Trunks was happy to see them, though confused as well.

"My son! Look how tall and handsome you're getting!" Bulma threw her arms around him and he hugged her back. Vegeta stood apart, hands in his pockets but looking as pleased as he ever did.

"Mom! Dad! Hi!" He turned toward Piccolo hoping for some kind of explanation and for a second could swear the Namek looked _guilty_. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

"I don't know why you're here, but it's good timing." Vegeta looked at Piccolo suspiciously. "I could use a real sparring partner for a change."

Trunks looked around in confusion. "What happened to your Trunks? Don't you two spar together?" This time Trunks definitely didn't miss the wince Dende made or the scowl on Piccolo. He was starting to get really concerned. Gohan had been furious about something and it had to do with his parents. And him apparently. Or at least, the him in this timeline. Trunks was no stranger to fear and anger but what he had felt from Gohan was completely different. He had seen Trunks as a threat.

"Uh…it's great to see you guys but I need to talk to Piccolo for a second. I'll stop by your place in a bit. Okay?" He grabbed Piccolo's arm and hustled him inside the Lookout, making sure the door was shut securely before spinning around and glaring.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

* * *

I could hear Dad on the phone with the school counselor. I knew they were talking about our suspension and possible expulsion. It seemed like ages ago since that had happened. It was probably for the best we weren't allowed to go to school right now, Trunks wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind for sitting and taking in lectures on stuff he mostly knew already.

Neither of us really cared if we were expelled, we'd just end up at a different school somewhere else, or home-schooled. Which actually sounded a lot more bearable in the long run.

Bulma probably wouldn't let Trunks do it though. She'd see it as him giving up and that wasn't an option in the Brief household. I scowled and stirred my oatmeal, wishing the worst of our problems was trying to think of a convincing argument for never going back to school.

Dad had explained last night that Piccolo had brought the Trunks from the future, here to our time. That's what that other ki had been. Why it had been so familiar but different. Trunks had been pretty quiet throughout dinner and then just shrugged. "So they get the son they've always wanted. Nice thinking, Piccolo." And then he'd gone up to my room and climbed into bed and pretended to sleep.

I don't think either of us did much actual sleeping but his back was turned to me when I got up that morning. I'd finally staggered downstairs when the sun started to hit the horizon. I'd been awake all night torn between wanting to kill this other Trunks and thinking of all the vicious things I'd like to say to Vegeta and Bulma.

"I think if you wanted to eat glue for breakfast it's reached the right consistency." I looked up, startled, when the spoon was plucked out of my hand. Dad was standing next to me looking down at my bowl of oatmeal in disgust. I glanced down at it and realized I'd stirred it into a thick grey paste.

"Damn." I suddenly felt like crying, which was stupid. Who cries over a bowl of gross oatmeal?

Dad must have realized something was wrong because he pulled me up and into a hug, running his hand through my hair. "I've got you."

I shuddered and buried my face in his chest, partly disgusted with myself for acting like a child and yet so incredibly glad he was there. He kissed my head and held me close, making soothing noises. He didn't tell me it was going to be okay. He's never lied to me and we both knew this was a crappy situation.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" He continued to rub circles on my back and I shook my head, not wanting to look up and not able to talk.

"Here's what we're going to do." He pulled back a little and kissed my forehead, gently wiping tears away with his thumbs. "I'm going to go get Trunks because I know he's not asleep. Then I'm going to make pancakes and you're both going to eat at least ten. Then you're going to take a bath and go back to bed. Okay?"

I nodded, some of the anxiety easing and being replaced with exhaustion. He smiled and gently pushed me back into the chair. I buried my head in my arms on the table and let myself doze off. Dad would try to fix this.


End file.
